Chapter Twenty-Five
She must have dozed for a while on the narrow pallet that offered little in the way of comfort or warmth. It was uncertain how much time had passed when she heard the protesting scrape of the bolt being pushed back and the accompanying squeal of the door opening. Tessa came awake quickly and sat up. Morning was breaking, but it was still very gray, and little light penetrated the cell in any case. The figure that stood silhouetted in the doorway was the one she least wanted to see, Hawick.
“I’ve come to tell you, lass, you’ll not be wife to the king.” She could not see his face in the gloom, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “It seems the English have a spare princess for the lad. Old Siward made her sound like the alpha and the omega, so unwilling was he to have Macbeth’s bloodline continue on the Scottish throne.”
Tessa sat immobile, unwilling to give Hawick any sort of response. The outlaw moved into the cell, shutting the door behind him with a low word to someone outside. With a feeling of dread, Tessa saw the man’s large shape loom closer, and then his face was close to hers.
“I’m thinking, then, that Malcolm will not mind if you and I have our delayed wedding night. After that he may kill you or not, as he likes.” Strong hands reached out and gripped her arms.
Tessa knew screaming would bring no help. Hawick had arranged this with the guards. She was of no use to anyone here, and therefore of no concern.
She tried to scratch at the man’s eyes, but he did not retreat an inch, merely slapped her so hard that she staggered back. He caught her arms and pinned them tightly behind her with a callused, callous hand.
“I’ve come to show you what you missed before and to repay you for the ridicule I suffered when you escaped and left me tied like a Christmas goose.” His voice shook with anger, but he pulled her close, and it softened. “Come, lass, you would not die without knowing a real man?” His grip tightened as she continued to struggle, knowing it was useless but refusing to give in.
“I don’t believe she is destined to die any time soon,” said a voice, and they both looked toward the door. It opened and a man appeared, carrying a torch that lit the cell and revealed the monk Tessa had seen twice before. Hawick reluctantly let go of Tessa and turned to him.
“Get out, monk. You have no business here.”
“But I do. My lord Malcolm sent me to speak with this woman at first light to tell her of the council’s decision. It was gracious of you to undertake the task, but not necessary. His highness your king has given me specific instructions for dealing with her situation, and I am to report to him when I leave her.”
Hawick almost argued. He wanted to. For a second time he was denied the prize he felt should be his. Still, the monk stood calmly and waited expectantly, so there was nothing for Hawick to do but leave the place, which he did with no good grace whatsoever.
For a moment the monk stood in the doorway uncertainly, watching Hawick go. Then he stepped further into the cell. The door shut behind him with a clang that caused him to glance back at it, but finally he moved toward Tessa.
The man was robed, as before, in a hooded garment of coarse brown cloth, the hood thrown back. He had the traditional monk’s tonsure, the hair around his ears a deep black. Tessa thought still that he seemed familiar, like a portrait of someone well known but poorly done, the features not quite in correct alignment. He spoke softly, as one who is practiced in keeping his emotions in check, yet there was an urgency about him, too.
“Are you all right? I saw Hawick going this way and feared he might have something evil in mind.”
“He’s your friend, not mine,” Tessa responded.
“No friend of mine nor of Malcolm,” the man asserted. “Hawick is an ally, which is not at all the same.”
Tessa had had all she could take in silence, and her bitterness bubbled out in a rush. “I’m sick to death of men and their games of politics, marriage, and war. People are always hurt, but mankind goes on plotting the next step in the game.” She was close to tears. The incident with Hawick had frightened her badly, and this man, though kind, was an enemy. She would not respond to his kindness.
“Child, I must speak with you.”
“I asked for no English priest,” Tessa responded brusquely. Despite the fact he had saved her from Hawick, he came from Malcolm and the new king’s council, and that could not be good for her.
“I come not as a man of God. Rather I come for your help, if you will give it.” He paused, but she did not answer, so he went on. “I understand you claim to have seen a certain Englishman.”
“I have seen too many Englishmen. Would that I should never see another!”
“Please, I am not trying to upset you, but you mentioned a name to the king, and that name was repeated to me. I come from the abbey at Bury Saint Edmonds, where I study the healing arts. When the English troops have need of me, I travel with them to treat the wounded and minister to the living and the dead. Since your story was repeated to me, I have not stopped thinking about it. You claim to have seen Jeffrey Brixton.”
“I do, but no one believes me.”
“What did this man look like?”
Tessa grimaced and rolled her eyes. What did it matter? Still, the man leaned toward her earnestly, and her answer seemed very important to him. “He has black hair and blue eyes, and he looks—” she stopped. “He looks like you, in fact.” Her eyes widened, and the monk smiled for the first time. When she had first seen his face in the courtyard, she had thought of Jeffrey. The familiarity was real! “Are you—”
“Jeffrey is my brother. I was once Ethelbert Brixton, though I am now called Brother Philip.”
“You are his brother. I can see it now.” Tessa nodded. “Your smile is like Jeffrey’s, only not so ironic.”
Ethelbert chuckled. “True, Jeffrey is the cynic of our family. Still, he and I are close—at least we were as boys. Life has given me few chances to see him of late.”
Ethelbert did not say that William had forced his brothers to fend for themselves, making them unwelcome in their own home, but Tessa knew it from her time with Eleanor. Now Ethelbert chuckled. “There was not much trouble the two of us couldn’t get into back then. We were the mischief-makers, while William was full of his dignity and Aidan overly serious. Jeffrey was the daring one, of course, but I was born with more patience with the ways of the world.”
“Like Auntie Madeline,” Tessa suggested, and he smiled again. He had a nice smile, like Jeffrey’s when he was not on his guard.
“You know my family?” He sat down on the wooden cot, ready to hear the whole story.
“I stayed with them for a year, with Eleanor, until she died.”
Ethelbert’s face sobered. “I was in Denmark at that time or I would have been there. Eleanor was dear to us all. I have come to be a traveler like Jeffrey, only he travels as soldier and I as healer. We have never crossed paths, but when I heard he was drowned, I could not believe it. I thought I would feel it if my youngest brother were dead, and I did not. Now you tell me my doubts were correct, and he is alive.” Ethelbert’s suntanned face was bright with joy at the prospect.
“He was alive when last I saw him, a prisoner of the man Hawick, to whom your pet Scot Malcolm pays heed. Unless Hawick has done away with him, Jeffrey lives.” Her voice hardened. “He is a hard man to kill, very slippery and quick with a story. It has served him well in assuring he continues to draw breath.”
Anger returned as Tessa recalled Jeffrey’s lies and half-truths. He had dallied with his own sister-in-law, with Mairie and with who knew how many others. At times he had seemed to care for her. Now he was Mairie’s again, according to Hawick. Tessa noticed the monk’s keen gaze, his eyes very like Jeffrey’s, only not blue but grayish, and pulled her thoughts back to her own situation.
“I can tell you where your brother was when we parted,” she offered, “but you must get me out of here.”
“That is the most interesting part.” The monk’s e
yes glinted with humor as he spoke, and he folded his hands together. “I do have some official capacity in this visit. You see, the new king of Scotland does not want the death of a woman on his hands. He cannot simply let you go, however, since Hawick lays all sorts of crimes at your feet. Many of the thanes have rancor against Macbeth and would like to see vengeance taken on any convenient scapegoat. So—” Here he spread his hands. “—it is to Malcolm’s advantage that you disappear. I am to assist as I can. He asks only that you leave Scotland and never return so long as he is king.”
Tessa looked into the gray eyes. “Is this a trick?”
“It is not, on my honor as a man of God. You know I have dedicated my life to the church, so you may trust me in this. You say Hawick is an outlaw. I will warn the king, but it’s all I can do. Malcolm must decide for himself who and what his allies are. He’ll need to step carefully to put your poor country back together, and I do not envy him the task.”
There was little Malcolm could do for Jeffrey. Either he was dead at Hawick’s hand or he had returned to England. Quickly she told Ethelbert what Hawick had said about William’s illness and Jeffrey’s return to England.
The monk sighed. “I suppose there is no use in going to look for him, then,” he concluded. “If he’s gone to Brixton, I will hear word when I return to the abbey. Still, I thank you for the information, which I for one believe is true. I will watch Hawick and warn Malcolm, as I promised. Now we must get you on your way to safety.”
Tessa considered the man’s motives for a moment. This escape could be a ruse to get her away from the castle and kill her secretly so no one could blame Malcolm for her death. She had heard of those who were men of God in name only, had even met one at Hawick’s, she remembered with disgust. Men like that would cooperate in such deeds. But from what she knew of Ethelbert from his family, he was truly devout and had pledged himself to the service of mankind. It only took an instant for her to make up her mind. To die attempting escape was better than meekly going to her execution.
“Tell me what I must do.”
Ethelbert had worn two robes into the cell, one over the other. He now removed the outer one and handed it to Tessa. “You are much smaller than I am, but this will hide you, I think. You will leave first. There is no guard at the door. Hawick saw to that. Make your way out in a leisurely fashion. I will leave when you have had time to get away. If God is with us, no one will realize you are gone for some time. Can you travel on your own?”
“I have done so before,” was her answer, but privately Tessa wondered where she would go. She must leave Scotland. Returning home would bring danger to her sisters, whom no one had thought of yet. They would be safe in the Cairngorms if she drew no attention to them, but her peril would end only when she was out of the country. That meant going to England, for where else could she go? She didn’t even have what was left of Macbeth’s gold, for Banaugh had kept it hidden in his pack.
Tessa felt a wave of determination. She would not give up now, would travel to England on foot if she had to. Once there, she would make a life for herself somehow. Adjusting the cowl of the robe so it hid her face completely, she told Brother Philip, “I am ready.”
It was easier than she could have imagined. No one paid the slightest attention to the monk who moved out of the building at a slow, steady pace and across the courtyard. The figure stopped at the gate and looked around briefly, then stepped in alongside a donkey pulling a cart filled with turnips. Patting the animal, the monk walked through the gate with it. The guards paid little attention, being more interested in who was coming into the castle than who was leaving it.
Once away from the wall a fair distance, Tessa slowed and let the cart pass her, then disappeared into the trees that lined the road. Stopping to consider her options was distressing. She had no money, no food, no belongings, and she was far from the border. After some deliberation she decided first to get her bearings, then find something to eat. She began with the sun, dimly seen through the haze of clouds above. Its position helped her to decide, rather tentatively, that she was facing north. She pointed herself in the opposite direction and began a circle around the castle, concealing herself in the trees and moving quietly.
It took the better part of half an hour to reach the far side of the castle, where she would have been in the first place if she’d planned more carefully and exited by the south gate. There was a small village outside the walls. Neat peasant huts lined the road, and fields now empty of crops were laid out in patches edged by posts that signified which tenant farmed the piece. Farther out were the larger fields that belonged to the manor and were farmed in common. There were no more woods. She would have to cross the open distance in her monk’s robe and hope no one accosted her. As she was about to step out of the trees, a hand grabbed her robe, pulling her back. Reacting quickly, she flailed out at the arm, bringing a muted grunt from the arm’s owner.
“Lass, it’s me,” Banaugh cried, and Tessa stopped in amazement.
“Banaugh! You came for me!”
He grinned, showing several gaps where molars had once been. “Did ye think I’d just go on without ye? Followed ye here, I did. I was havin’ a devil of a time figurin’ how I wuld get in t’ free ye, an’ then I heard this crashin’ through the wood, like a bear or a stag i’ panic. Imagine m’ surprise when it was only a tiny little monk wi’ an overlarge robe, an’ where’s his tonsure, I ask m’self?”
Tessa pouted briefly. “I was trying to be quiet,” she told him. “You try stepping over brambles in this heavy woolen thing.” Of course, that is exactly what was needed. Banaugh handed over his cap, and in only a few minutes a much more realistic-looking monk emerged from the wood with a boy beside him and the two made their way through the village and off to the south without much notice being taken whatsoever.