Vindicta by Judy Colella (most popular novels TXT) 📕

while reminding you to return to us soon.” He smiled, nothing in the expression betraying the fact that he knew exactly what Bayard was planning. “I wish you Godspeed, my friend, and will be praying for you – and your dear sister, too, of course – every single day.”

“I know you will, Brother Renford, and I am grateful. I, er, well, I have no doubt you shall be discreet…” He trailed off, feeling almost foolish.

“Of course. The Abbot spoke with me of this, and you know how devoted I am to this place and all who share the calling.” He held the loaf upward, his smile genuine.

“Thank you.” Bayard took it, enjoying its aromatic warmth for a moment before sliding it carefully into one of the sacks hanging from the saddle. “You are an inspiration to us all, Brother Renford. I pray that one day I can say I am in some degree like you.” He nodded a quick farewell, spurred the horse, and they trotted out of the courtyard and onto the deserted road.

The sky was typical of late autumn and matched the monk’s mood – gloomy, grey, promising nothing but misery. Being early, Bayard’s only company, other than his horse, was the petrified ground that rang loudly under the gelding’s iron-clad hooves, spindly tree limbs stripped bare and black by the blast of oncoming winter, the few orange and red leaves still clinging to their former source of life waving pitifully from an occasional branch. The birds were silent, or at least too far away for him to hear; no foxes or stoats peered at him from behind dormant bushes or rotting logs. The denizens of nature, it seemed, being more prudent that he at the moment, had not ventured out of their cosy dens.

By midmorning he had gone far enough to start thinking about finding a warm roadside alehouse. He could easily have slowed his mount sufficiently to take some food from his saddle to eat as he rode, but the air had remained statically cold, the sun refusing to appear to warm it even a few small degrees. Thoughts of heated, mulled wine began to fill his head, and a happily blazing fire before which to stretch his legs and thaw the toes he was convinced were as frozen as some of the puddles of ice he’d passed that morning. He knew of such a place several leagues ahead, and before that, a manor house where they would probably welcome a nearly frost-bitten traveling monk. He could offer them the loaf of excellent monastery bread in gratitude, perhaps. Or maybe they wouldn’t require –

The sound of hooves clattering closer from the other side of the hill he’d been climbing rattled him out of his thoughts. “Someone’s in a hurry,” he murmured, guiding the horse to one side of the road to make room for the galloping wayfarer.

A moment later the rider appeared, his dappled mare steaming in the cold, the man’s cloak flapping in a way that had to be letting in more cold than it could keep out. At first, eyes focused on the road ahead, the rider didn’t see Bayard or his horse. But a moment before he would have passed, he pulled up suddenly, causing the dapple to rear, snorting and shaking her head in horse-rage at the rough treatment.

As soon as the man turned toward him, Bayard recognized his face and his own lit with surprise. “Charles? What on earth are you doing out here? Is everything all right at home?”

Charles, one of the family’s servants who often acted as messenger for them, kicked his mare closer. “My lord! Or…I mean, er, Brother Bayard.” He cleared his throat, slighly embarrassed.

“That’s all right. It’s too bloodly cold to worry about titles. What brings you here?”

“It…it’s your sister, my lord. She, well, I’m afraid she’s disappeared. Your father seems to think she may be trying to come here, to reach you, but we’ve had no word, and – ”

“I know.” Bayard looked at the ground. “She’s at the monastery.”

“Then she’s well!”

“No.” He looked back up, his expression terrible, and the servant’s smile vanished. “A farmer found her two days ago and brought her there.”

“My God! Is she – is she dead?”

“Worse, I’m afraid, and very near death, too.”

Charles frowned, confused. “What happened? Was there an accident?”

“Oh, no, my friend, this was no accident.” He took a deep breath, reluctant, but there was no nice way to say it. He tried to speak calmly, only with unexpected force the anger that he’d been keeping carefully reined in broke its bonds and through clenched teeth he said, “She was attacked by a band of robbers. They raped her, beat her to within an inch of her life, and left her naked and bloody on the road. I don’t know how many there were, but the physician at the monastery seems to think there were at least seven or eight – ” His voice caught and he found himself wanting to vomit. “They…they did things to her that…God, Charles, a part of me hopes she doesn’t survive!” Tears of fury and sorrow stood in his eyes, chilling them, and he blinked.

Charles, meanwhile, had been listening in gaping disbelief. Such things simply did not happen to sweet girls like the Lady Lisette – it was unthinkable! Yet nothing in Master Bayard’s demeanor indicated he was exaggerating even a little. “Oh, dear Jesu, that poor child!”

“And well you should pray for her Charles. I - ” He stopped, forgetting what he’d been about to say as another thought pushed that one aside. He regarded the serving man with a critical eye, nodding. Height, similar, yes…about the same build, perhaps a bit heavier but not enough to matter… “Follow me to a tavern I know isn’t all that far from here. We have some things to discuss.”

Obediently, Charles turned his horse to fall in step beside Bayard’s, and together they continued along the road, the sound of mingled hoof-tread chasing away the barren feeling of the day. By the time they reached their goal, both men were half frozen, their limbs stiff from cold and immobility in the saddle. They dismounted and led their animals to a small stable behind the main building, handing the reigns to the stableman who stood rubbing his hands and blowing on them as he watched the two approach. He told them it would cost them each a silver coin; Bayard shrugged at the servant, who remembered that as a monk, his erstwhile master wouldn’t have even a copper piece to his name. He took two coins from a hidden pouch behind his belt and handed them over.

“A bit steep, don’t you think?” murmured Bayard, referring to the stableman’s fee.

“Well, this is the only roadside tavern for miles. I suppose they can charge whatever they wish.”

Bayard shook his head, disgusted, but not enough to reclaim the horses and get back on the icy roads. In fact, all he cared about right then was getting inside where there would be fire and something to warm his insides, too.

A half hour later, he and his servant were leaning comfort- ably against the wall, the backless benches near the building’s massive hearth close enough to the fire to thaw tingling limbs without suffocating the whole person. Their mulled wine had been heated to a perfect warmth, the alcohol completing what several minutes over a flame had begun. The cost of this liquid fare had been about as expected – much higher than one might pay in a local inn but not as prohibitive as it could have been. Charles, however, had gone back out to the stable to retrieve food from their saddlebags, since neither of them imagined any meal being offered would be priced reasonably.

Now, their bodies warm and content, Bayard addressed the notion he believed would satiate the discontent of his emotional state. “Charles, I have a proposition, one that should solve the dilemma in which I find myself, and which should guarantee you a safer passage back to Exeter than you might otherwise expect.”

The other man frowned. “My lord?”

“I need to find these bastards, and was despairing of being able to do so because of my obligation to inform my parents about Lisette’s condition. You see, the trail would not yet be cold, this attack having occurred only a couple of days ago. Naturally, the Abbott cannot condone what I must do once I find them, so my original plan was to go after them in the garb of a nobleman, my status before entering the Monastery. The problem with that is time. It will take too long, I’m afraid, to get home, explain the situation, find proper clothing that does not have our family crest on it somewhere, then get back to this area while the evil-doers are still within reach. So I propose that you and I switch places.”

“Ah, I see – we swap clothing, I go back and report what you’ve told me, and you, dressed like me, go search them out in complete anonymity.”

“Precisely. What do you think?”

Charles pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “Yes…well, as you say, I’ll be quite a bit safer, since most of the highway robbers know a monk carries nothing of value. But what about the horses?”

“The horses?”

“Yes, my lord. They’re of about equal quality, but the saddles would mark a difference that would be hard to explain. You’re using one from the Monastery, while mine is from your father’s house and of superior make. Should we perhaps switch them, too?”

“Excellent suggestion.” Bayard managed his first real smile in days and patted the other man on the back. “And since we still have enough hour of daylight for you to make it to the next tavern before stopping for the night, I suggest we take care of this immediately.”

Thanking the taverner for his excellent wine, the two men went back out into the cold, not feeling it at first. But when they ducked behind the stable and stripped, most of the warmth they’d purchased fled. Even after they’d exchanged clothes and were wrapped in cloaks once more, the temptation to go back inside was great. Still, Bayard’s need to pursue his quarry was even greater, so after retrieving their mounts, they led them back to the road to switch saddles away from the curious eyes of the stabler.

As soon as this was accomplished, Charles handed over his extra coin purse, the one not hidden behind his belt, and smiled crookedly at his master. "I think I won't be needing this, either. Oh, and here - " He tugged at a large golden ring on his left middle finger, his action suggesting it was too small for him, but in the frigid air, it slid off easily. "Your father's signet. He let me wear it in case I needed proof of his authority in bringing your sister back with me. We were secretly hoping she'd run off to be with friends not too far from home, but as I traveled and asked questions, the sightings were scarce. After all, she'd left in the middle of the night, so only one cottager who happened to be outside relieving himself saw her gallop past. And even he couldn't have sworn the rider was a girl. But the vague description of her horse actually fit." He shrugged.

Bayard shoved the gold and enameled circlet onto his own hand, the index finger, since he was slimmer than both his father and Charles. "I understand. Thank you. I believe