The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

“Your father knew every single move you made, and he was pleased with the witch’s plan, though he was furious at your butchery here at Wareham. When I told him Arthur had awakened and confessed, he was content to see what you would do. He laughed when I told him about you making yourself into an ancient old crone. It was your father who ordered me to play the tinker so I would know exactly what happened.

“When he hears of this failure, Jason, he will not only cut out your tongue, he will kill you, for you have lost Arlette’s silver. He knows his line is now cursed. Aye, he told me if he did not die with the silver in his keeping, his line would die out within a generation.”

Jason was beside himself. He yelled, “You were the one who failed, Halric! The witch promised me the heiress, and you did capture her for me, but just look what happened. Garron of Kersey got her back. The witch told me to kill you because you failed. But I have a full share of mercy. You had been at my side for many years, and so I didn’t kill you, but I will, you bastard, I swear it on my honor, I will slit your bloody throat!”

Sir Halric said, “It was bad luck, naught more than bad luck that this man came upon us, and freed the heiress.”

Suddenly, Jason froze. He said slowly, trying to weave his thoughts together over the pain, “Were you really going to bring her to me, Halric?”

Contempt sliced through Halric’s voice. “What do you think, you braying little cock?”

Jason actually groaned. “You betrayed me yet again. You were going to take her to my father, weren’t you? You were going to give her to him so he could have Va

lcourt, and I would have nothing.”

There was a moment of raging silence, then Sir Halric laughed, a high, full laugh. “Aye, when I found the heiress skulking away from Valcourt and caught her, I did indeed decide to take her to your father. Your father would have rewarded me, as you have never done.”

Sir Halric turned to Garron. “Aye, you beat me, sent me running. Your men killed mine, and you brought the heiress here to wed yourself. You are not a fool, are you, Garron of Kersey? When you looked at her, you knew she would bring you great wealth and great power, and you had to do absolutely nothing to earn it. But heed me, my lord, both the heiress and the silver belong to Lord Ranulf, to no one else.”

Garron smiled. “Since the heiress did not tell me who she was, believe me, Sir Halric, I had to work very hard indeed to gain her hand in marriage.”

Sir Halric turned to Merry. “She’s naught but an evil spawn, all that sinful red hair flying around her head.”

“I want her,” Jason yelled. “She belongs to me! She wrapped a bandage around my head. I will kill her witch mother and then wed the heiress. It is I who will have Valcourt.”

Sir Halric stepped right in Jason’s face. He said very quietly, “Are you blind? Are you too witless to understand that you will shortly be dead? You will never have the heiress. You will never have Valcourt. You will never have the silver. You’ve lost, and you’ve dragged me down with you. Aye, I deserve to be killed because I obeyed Lord Ranulf when he told me to do what you wished, all the while rubbing his hands together, knowing I would help you recover the silver. I even agreed to make myself into a tinker traveling with his ugly old wife with three mules laden with goods—and just look at what happened when we came here again.” He grabbed Jason by the throat and shook him. Jason tried to push him away, but the pain in his head nearly sent him to his knees.

Then Sir Halric released him, stepped back, and shook his head in disgust. “Both of us were caught and humiliated because of that damned witch’s mad plan. Do you know it was your grandmother who passed down Arlette’s silver coins to your father? She told him at her last breath he would be the guardian and she explained to him about Arlette’s silver, and the cost to him if he lost it.”

Burnell said more to himself than to Sir Halric, “Arlette. Was she a Druid priestess, do you think? She gathered silver from men to protect them, to cleanse their sins? Sir Halric, you don’t know who she is?”

Sir Halric said, “Lord Ranulf did not tell me anything more, merely that his own mother spoke to him about the silver coins.”

Burnell said, “I must study this, determine who this Arlette was. She was of your line, surely. The distant past, I wonder if that is true?”

Garron laughed, he actually laughed until he shook with it. “Sir,” he said to Burnell, “you have fallen into this fine old tale—a Druid priestess—but think, sir. The silver coins, you have seen them. They aren’t a thousand years old, they are of our time, mayhap amongst the first silver pennies ever issued, probably issued by King Henry. So, Lord Ranulf spun this tale for his son, and for Sir Halric. Jason still spins it. The king must ask Lord Ranulf where the coins really come from.”

Burnell, that spiritual man of immense faith, cursed beneath his breath. He looked embarrassed. Then he squared his shoulder. “Aye, a romantic tale it is, and so I forgot what I saw with my own eyes. You are right, Garron, it is Lord Ranulf who has to tell the king the truth.”

Garron said to Jason, “I wish to know where you’re keeping my brother. Or are you lying? Did you kill him after he confessed the hiding place to you?”

“Arthur is still breathing,” Jason said. “I wanted to kill him but I couldn’t be sure he had told me the truth. Aye, he lives.” He managed a laugh. “So you are nothing, just as I told you, Garron of Kersey, nothing at all, except one of the king’s lowly guards.”

It was Robert Burnell who calmly walked to Jason and sent his fist hard into his jaw. “No man is lowly, sirrah, when he is in the king’s service.”

50

Not long after Jason of Brennan and Sir Halric were taken back to the granary, Miggins eased up behind Garron and lightly tugged on his sleeve. “My lord.”

“Aye, Miggins? You have more revelations to turn my hair white?”

The old woman quickly looked around, then leaned close. “Ye must listen to me, beautiful lad, ye must.”

What now? By all the saints’ blistered fingers, there was so much for him to consider, so many decisions to make, and there was his brother, and if he were indeed alive, then Arthur was the earl, not Garron, and there was Merry, always Merry—he nodded down at the scrappy old woman. “I’m listening.”

“Merry has changed. None of us knows what has changed her, but since ye brought her back, she is different. She doesn’t know things she should know, like names, though she pretends to. She didn’t even remember that Eric the goat was named after little Ivo and Errol’s father. She is jealous of Elaine, I’ve seen her show spite. Something is very wrong. Ye must do something.”

Garron said very quietly, “I did not tell you, Miggins, but when her mother kidnapped her, the witch drugged her. I believe the drug must have changed her. We must hope she will recover from it.”