A Bit of Heaven on Earth Page 4

  Bending close to the gash, he held the wound closed and chanted, “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Mary. The wound was red, the cut deep, the flesh be sore, but there will be no more blood or pain till the blessed Virgin bears a child again.”

  The priest then reached into the basket once more. He brought out a poultice. He placed it upon the wound and then bandaged it, winding a clean cloth around and around to hold it in place. Robert moaned a few times, but Gavin thought he’d not remember this.

  Father Janus gave him a few instructions and left the basket behind. “They will bring soup soon. See that he takes some. Water, too, will help keep his fever down.”

  Gavin helped the priest to his feet. He was amazed at how little skin was wrapped around the man’s bones. If he would have but squeezed, the bones would have snapped and turned to dust in his hands.

  “Merci.” Father Janus studied him. “They mean to ransom you. The English caused heavy losses for France today. They need more money to fight these idiotic wars. They will not let you die.”

  His words reassured Gavin. Due to their dress, he and Robert would have stood out as nobility. Ransoming the enemy was common amongst many countries. As soon as he could get a missive off, the process would be in motion. It would take several weeks to get a message to England and their respective homes, his in the northern border country, Robert’s to the south.

  But in time, they would go home. Gavin’s relief stirred him to care for Robert all the more. They would make it through this. Together.

  He watched the priest leave the room. The old man gave him a brief smile before he left.

  Gavin pulled one of the benches over to Robert’s cot and seated himself next to his friend.

  He would come through this. He must.

  “Are you cheating again?”

  Robert raised his eyebrows. “Me? Cheat?” He sighed. “Mayhap I’m simply changing the rules of the game somewhat.”

  Gavin smiled indulgently at his friend. It had been touch and go for a good fortnight, but Robert was recovered from his wound. Amazingly enough, no infection set in. Whatever poultices Father Janus pulled from his bag on a daily basis had done the trick. After close to two months, Robert was the picture of health, thanks to the simple country fare they’d eaten. Gavin had no idea how the priest connected to this puzzle, but he felt sure the man was responsible for their fair treatment.

  He moved his chess piece and tried to hide a triumphant smile. “Check.”

  “God’s wounds, Gavin. How can you expect me to win if I do not cheat? You constantly check here and there and then ‘tis checkmate on top of that. Do you realize I have won but two bloody matches in all the time we have been here?”

  Gavin laughed heartily. “You have not the patience to plan your moves, Robert. Chess is a game of strategy. You must think ahead four, eight, even twelve moves. Never be predictable. The way to win is to outthink your opponent. Lull him into complacency. Then,” and he allowed a smile to grace his face, “go in for the kill.”

  Robert pushed back from the table and began pacing the small room. “All well and good for you to say. You have a military mind. Me? I have the brute strength to be nothing more than a good soldier. Go where I am told, when I am told, and kill the enemy. I’m but a simple farmer.”

  Gavin stood, as well. “I’ve seen Fondren, my friend. ‘Tis no simple estate, and you are no simple farmer.” He sighed. “’Twould that we would have been known to each other all those years ago whilst I fostered with Aldred.”

  Robert grimaced. “Aye, I would have liked that, too. Instead I was freezing my love-apples off in the unforgiving north.”

  He gave his friend a mock look of horror. “Take care, Robert of Fondren. You tread on sacred ground. Those of us born in the north have it in our blood, all our lives, no matter where our travels take us.”

  His friend laid a hand on his shoulder. “And being a border lad, I bet you fancy the fine comfort of our accommodations here. ‘Twould be a step up from your usual way.”

  Gavin looked over the sparse room and chuckled. “Not that I won’t be ready to be ransomed. The sooner, the better.” He paused. “I wonder how much longer ‘twill take.”

  Robert closed his eyes in thought. “’Twould be several weeks just to get the message to the coast and back through the channel and bay. Not as long for my father to hear tale, being in Kent.”

  He opened his eyes and grinned. “Why, ‘twould not surprise me if the French messenger gives up when he sees how harsh and unforgiving the north is. He will fairly run screaming for London and a ship back to France.”

  Robert winked. “’Twill mean that I, of course, will be ransomed first. But not to worry, Gavin. I am sure they will eventually come hunting for you. Why, without my fine, calming influence, you may become a veritable madman. Our captors will probably chase you to the sea and cheer when you swim in the rough channel waters for home.”

  Gavin slapped Robert on the back. He probably would have already gone mad if not for the company of his friend. Being enclosed in the single, tiny space for so long made him restless. He prayed again that the ransom would arrive soon. He didn’t know how much more he could take of such confinement.

  A light knock sounded at the door, followed by the turning key. Father Janus appeared in the doorway, as thin as ever. Gavin thought the man might blow away on a strong wind.

  “Have you ever thought about stealing a bite now and then from the food you bring us?” he asked.

  The priest looked up in surprise. “Steal? Why, I have taken a vow of poverty, my boy.”

  Gavin shook his head as Robert coughed politely into his hand. Something was lost in the translation. Mayhap he could remedy that.

  “Would you care to join us, Father, and dine with us?”

  The cleric thought it over a moment. “No, I have much yet to do. But I thank you for the invitation.” He pulled a large loaf of bread from his sack and placed it on the table. Next came a round of cheese and a portion of fish.

  “You are good to us, Father,” Gavin told him as he broke off a bite of the bread.

  “Only God is good, my son. We are simply placed upon the earth to try and imitate his goodness.” He brightened. “Your boredom may be coming to an end.”

  Both he and Robert looked up expectantly.

  The priest laughed heartily. “A letter arrived with a seal of blood red, embossed with a—”

  “—lion,” finished Robert. “So my father received the ransom note.”

  “Yes. You are to be set free come the morn. I must go now, but I wanted to share such good news with you.” He pulled a parchment from his bag. “A letter from your father, my boy. Enjoy reading it.”

  “Thank you.” Robert took the old priest’s hand and dropped to his knees before him. “Thank you for caring so well for us.”

  “My pleasure,” Father Janus replied. He looked at Gavin with raised brows. “I did not take a vow to give up pleasure.”

  As he left, Gavin realized he might have many more weeks before his freedom came. Robert must have known the same thing.

  “I’ll stay with you, Gavin, till your ransom arrives.”

  He saw the depths of sincerity in Robert’s warm gaze. “I thank you, but I won’t keep you from your simple farm. ‘Tis sure that the pigs need slopping and the cows milking. I would not want to keep you from such enjoyable endeavors.”

  In the end the two men sat up all night, talking of their homes and their dreams for the future. Robert had improvements he wanted to make around Fondren, pending his father’s approval. Gavin wanted to try a new strain of cattle at Ashgrove.

  “I pledge my eternal friendship to you, Gavin,” Robert told him as dawn broke and a thin shaft of light made its way into the room. “There’s nothing I would not do for you. Know t
hat.”

  The two men embraced and remained silent until Robert left. When the time came, all words had been spoken between them, so Gavin raised a hand in farewell. Robert nodded and left the room without a backward glance.

  The day dragged as slow as poured honey with only himself for company. Robert always had an interesting story, a tale from his youth or one he’d heard a minstrel perform. Gavin realized just how keenly he would miss his friend.

  When he awoke on the seventeenth day after Robert left, it was to the rattling of the key in the lock. Gavin sat up expectantly. Finally, his time was at hand. He sensed it in his bones.

  It was not Father Janus, though. Gavin had expected it to be the priest that brought him his good news. Instead, an overweight guard with fewer teeth than a babe thrust a missive in his hand.

  Gavin fingered the broken seal lovingly, his first connection with Ashgrove in such a long time. Gingerly, he opened the letter and scanned its brief contents.

  He read it again. Panic made his heart thunder. Then, thinking hearing it aloud would change its contents, he quietly mumbled, “The answer is no. No ransom from Ashgrove will be forthcoming. Do with your prisoner as you see fit.”

  It was signed by his father’s hand.

  CHAPTER 4

  Gavin awoke to another day in hell. The rodent-infested cell remained dank, dark, and dirty. Just like yesterday. Just like the day before that. Just like it would be tomorrow.

  He fought the bitterness that blanketed him every waking moment. He thought about his mother. She would never recognize him. His once fine battle wear now hung in rags about him. His black hair was greasy, matted, and full of lice. A thick beard covered his face.

  For the thousand and one time, he wondered why his father had refused to ransom him once he’d received the demand from his French captors. He couldn’t fathom why it happened. Why he was left to rot in prison. He ran through the list he composed on a daily basis, which only served to torture him. Had Berwyn actually received his missive? Had he sent the gold, only to have it intercepted by brigands?

  Yet Gavin saw with his own eyes the note delivered from Ashgrove. The seal broken, his father’s handwriting within. Why such a betrayal? Why such malice?

  As always, interminable questions—and no answers.

  His thoughts turned back to his mother. Was Gillian in good health? Or had she died? She’d always been on the sickly side. Would that incident have driven his father mad with grief, even to the point where he didn’t know what he did and refused to bring his own son home? He doubted it. He’d never witnessed any affection, much less love, between his parents, only a veiled politeness.

  And he knew of his father’s many mistresses. Berwyn was not one to be without a woman, especially since his wife spent far too much time in the drafty chapel on her knees in long hours of prayer, day after day, happy to be with her God.

  Gavin had about given up on there being a God. Why would He leave him here to rot for two long years? Every day alive was hell on earth, all hours awake spent miserably in the cold and damp. Gavin looked forward to the small bits of food, only to be disappointed every time it arrived. When it came, that is.

  He let his mind take him away to a feast at Ashgrove. They proved even bigger and better than those he’d witnessed while fostering under Aldred at Kentwood. Gavin noticed how Berwyn had started many of the same traditions as Aldred, only turning them more magnificent and costly. If he ever escaped, Gavin would never take any feast, or any morsel of food, for granted again.

  Often, he wondered what Aldred would do in this situation. Survival would be paramount, of course. The warrior had instilled in Gavin from his youth that he could do anything. He trained him not only physically but toughened him mentally.

  He had tried to escape. It was his duty to king and country. He had more than a half-dozen failed attempts behind him. One resulted in injuring three guards. He’d almost made it to daylight that time.

  How sweet ‘twould be to see a sunrise! To have the warmth of the summer sun upon his face once again. All the little things, the small freedoms and odd moments taken for granted, he’d now come to savor while in captivity.

  He bore the scars of his efforts. He supposed by now his back was a collage from the multiple beatings. They’d slammed his hand in something once. He couldn’t remember now, but the little finger on his left hand had never healed properly. It now jutted out at an odd angle. As punishment, they shackled him to the wall for months. At least he could move about some now, for which he gave thanks.

  The most severe beating had left permanent damage. So many heavy blows about his head, the blood pouring freely from his ear. A ringing that lasted for days upon end . . . then . . . silence. He no longer could hear from his left ear.

  He tried to stay strong, despite the meager diet provided. He worked his muscles each day, which proved difficult at times. The cell, though fairly large, held several men within it at any given point. He learned to have no qualms about taking food from those so ill they would never eat again. Better him than the rats. Anything to stay strong and be ready for the day he would break the shackles of this place.

  He waited and watched for opportunity. Gavin knew the guards’ names. Their routines. The ones that seemed fair. The ones who abused their limited authority. He would be ready when the next time came.

  It would be the last time, for if he failed in his attempt, he would go mad. Dying would be preferable.

  He heard someone coming. He lifted his good ear toward the noise. He recognized Gustave’s voice, which meant he brought Father Janus with him. Gustave was the only one who would call for the priest whenever last rites needed to be delivered. He looked over at the man whose breath rattled noisily in his chest. He no longer learned the names of new prisoners. They didn’t matter.

  The guard and priest turned the corner. Gavin was grateful for the nominal friendship he had with the cleric. On more than one occasion, Father Janus had palmed a bread crust to him, sometimes even a piece of hard cheese. Once, upon Christmas, he’d even smuggled him a fistful of precious meat.

  As he entered the cell today, he gave Gavin the familiar, comforting smile. Gavin found a smile now held the same value to him as a well-trained destrier or a large bag of gold. Little things held true measure of worth. He might have been vain before, enjoying fine clothes and a grand manor, but he’d discovered there was so much more to life. A man’s good name, the small kindnesses he bestowed upon others, a rainbow after a summer shower—all these proved priceless to him.

  Father Janus pulled his cowl away. Immediately, it struck Gavin how sunken the priest’s eyes were. Where the priest had always been tall and forever thin, he now appeared gaunt beyond measure. When had Gavin last seen him? Had it been a month? Two?

  The holy man signaled for him to come close, even as Gustave motioned the prisoner needing to receive the last rites was in the far back corner. Gavin followed as Gustave left. The stench here proved even worse. Foul smells and piles of vomit surrounded what was left of the man’s living body. Even after so long a time here, it was hard for Gavin to face the squalid conditions.

  Others in the cell wasted away, too. Many slept. No one paid attention as Gavin touched the priest’s shoulder, wondering what he wanted.

  “I’m dying,” the old man told him, his voice just above a whisper. “I feel it in my bones. I can’t eat anymore. Days have gone by without my holding down even the simplest crust of bread.”

  Gavin ached as the priest shared this news with him. He feared once Father Janus passed, then no one from the outside would ever come again to this prison. The man of God had been his link for so long. He’d become his only friend, and a lifeline that held the fragile bit of Gavin’s sanity in place. He dreaded what might happen when the priest was gone.

  “Even water will not stay down,”
the cleric continued. “Aches in my joints, to my very bones. I awoke and somehow knew this was my last day on earth.”

  Gavin watched as the priest slid down the wall he leaned against and sighed. “God will welcome me into His loving arms, but He wishes me to do one last act of mercy.” He reached up and took Gavin’s hand. “I am to help you, my son, before I leave this earth.”

  Father Janus began intoning the Latin words of the last rites over the dying prisoner, words which even now soothed Gavin in some odd way. Aldred forced him to learn Latin and Greek as a boy. They had worked on some German, but he found it harder to understand such a guttural language.