VINCENT AROSE IN the predawn hours, determined to make his way into the village, needing to discover if Johnas had given up his search for Eldra.
Slipping from beneath the furs, he quickly dressed, settling the hooded cloak over his broad shoulders.
Exiting the cave he jumped from its ledge, landing silently on the rock strewn ground below.
Vincent made his way to the docks, blending into the crowd of late arriving travelers who had opted to sleep onboard ship rather than seek accommodations elsewhere in the village for the night.
He made his way past the silent bawdy houses, walking in the direction of the main square where the clock tower loomed over the streets.
Vincent smelled the man before he saw him, remembered the scent of his sweat and his perfumed body.
Although he had matured since Vincent had last seen him, he recognized him immediately as being a member of the vampire hunters who had cut down Aurelius.
The man stepped through the doorway of one the townhouses that lined the street, followed closely by Johnas.
They stood on the pathway, and spoke briefly before the taller, fair-haired man in the expensive livery, accepted his horse's reins from one of his two companions, before deftly swinging into the saddle, and riding off together down the cobblestone streets in the direction of the King's Road.
Vincent recognized that the two who accompanied the vampire hunter wore the colors of the King's Guards.
Vincent knew the hunter well, who had spoken to Johnas on the stone pathway of his home. Although the last time they had crossed swords the now older, well dress man had been but a boy of sixteen summers.
He and his father were allied with the vampire hunters who had slaughtered his clan.
Vincent's teeth pulled back in a silent snarl under his hood as he watched the men ride away. It seemed that Johnas may have discovered his true nature and that he was the one who had rescued Eldra from the pyre, putting them both in greater danger than fighting off a few untrained villagers, would have afforded when the time to do battle finally arrived.
The urge to rip Johnas's throat out intensified, as the man lingered on the houses stoop, before disappearing through its entrance, pulling the heavy wooden door firmly shut behind him.
Vincent contemplated crossing the street, tearing the door from its hinges, and killing Johnas at that very moment, until he realized that dawn was quickly approaching, bringing with it the full power of the brightly burning morning sun.
He decided instead that he would return after nightfall, when he would possess his full strength, to take his revenge on the Whore son.
Vincent vowed that he would make Johnas suffer before draining him, savoring his terror as his life ebbed away.
Then he would release the beast within to tear Johnas limb from limb.
He glanced up at the dawn kissed sky overhead, before making his way back to the docks, and the mountain that lay beyond.
* * *
Mowbray, and his Royal Guardsmen rode in silence through the village, bound for the King's Road. He had agreed to help Johnas in his search for the woman, only after hearing of the shadow that stalked the forest.
The tale piqued his interest.
When, as a boy, Mowbray had fought beside his father against the Vampire scourge, there had been some talk amongst his father's mercenaries that one of the vampire's had managed to escape.
They whispered about a fledgling vampire, around their camp fires, whom none could recall having killed. He was strongly built, tall and dark-haired, a creature who possessed distinctive piercing silver-blue colored eyes.
The vampire had been spotted in the company of the old Roman Vampire, Aurelius, who was believed to be his Maker.
Of course, the men could have been mistaken.
In the heat of battle, many a soldier had forgotten which of his foes had been struck down by his blade and which had escaped him.
Mowbray himself had fought in many wars during his years in service to King and country, yet even he could not recall every face belonging to an enemy he had dispatched with a stroke of his sword in the frenzy of battle.
Still the burning red eyes of the shadow being spotted in the ancient forest, had brought back those long forgotten memories of the stories told by his father's men late at night around their campfires.
Mowbray had lain awake for the better part of the night in the uncomfortable bed Johnas had insisted he use.
The whiskey had flowed freely and the hour had grown late, leaving Mowbray far too drunk to continue his journey back to court.
His guards had lodged at the local tavern, no doubt drinking their weight in ale, as evidenced by their sour moods as they traversed the muddy track that passed for a road in this remote corner of the King's realm.
Mowbray's agreement to aid in the search for the woman Johnas claimed was a witch had been nothing more than a ruse. It provided him with the perfect opportunity to seek out the so called, red eyed demon, and discover for himself whether the tales his father's mercenaries had told were true. He planned to return to court, gathering those hunters who were still fit enough to accompany him, before returning three days hence to ferret out Johnas's witch and deliver her to him to do with as he pleased.
Mowbray considered the thought of burning the wench a waste, however, if she was as comely as Johnas had described, perhaps there were other uses to which she might be put before she met her fate.
The thought brought a cruel smile to his lips. He would decide what became of her once he had her in his hands.
* * *
Maeve awoke stiff, and sore in the morning, but mercifully the searing pains in her belly had ceased, replaced instead with a feeling of deep emptiness.
She started as Barbara burst through the doorway carrying a tray with a cup, a pot of tea, and pieces of dry toast.
"Oh good your awake!" she exclaimed brightly.
"My dear, you frightened the life out us all last night. I was up until the wee hours of the morning watching over you in my worry."
Maeve looked at her, distrust haunting her eyes.
"What did you do to me?" She questioned her.
"Why whatever do you mean?" Barbara replied. A mask of innocence on her face. "I saved your life, you ungrateful little retch, you could at least show me some gratitude. If I had not been here you would have bled to death, and been disposed of in the sea along with the babe you carried." Barbara hissed.
Maeve cowed under the weight of her hateful words.
"What do you mean by, thrown into the sea?" she asked, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.
Barbara placed the tray on the edge of the table by the bed, looking into the frightened girl's face, before pouring tea into the cup.
Maeve knocked the cup from Barbara's hand as she offered it to her, spilling its contents over the older woman's dressing gown.
The cup struck the floor and shattered at Barbara's feet.
Barbara slapped the girl soundly across the face before immediately regaining control of herself.
She stood, brushing the droplets of spilled tea from her dressing gown, then straightened her spine.
"Very well. I shall return when you are calmer," Barbara said, avoiding Maeve's eyes as she lay upon the bed.
With that, the older woman left the room, locking the door from the outside before making her way down the back stairs to change her soiled dressing gown.
*****
Once alone, Maeve rose gingerly from her bed and removed the blood-stained sheets from the mattress. She stripped off her dress and used the water she had poured into the basin to wash away what remained of the blood from her body.
After slipping into her nightdress, she remade the bed with fresh linens from the trunk positioned at the foot of the bed before crawling back beneath the blanket.
The weakness brought on by her loss of blood made her head swim with every movement, while her body ached horribly from the ordeal she had suffered when the babe she carried had been expelled from her body.
And she contemplated the future if she were to remain in the bawdy house.
Barbara had proven herself to be not the kindly, motherly woman she had first encountered when she had arrived at the bawdy house.
She was sure that the madam had somehow caused the events of the previous night, though how she did not know.
While Maeve had asked Barbara to help rid her of the burden of the babe she carried in her womb, she had believed there would at least be time to prepare herself for what was to come. She had not expected the ordeal to happen so suddenly, nor had she been prepared for how physically and emotionally devastating it would be.
Barbara had also lied in her assurance that there would be very little pain, not the searing agony that she had experienced.
Maeve made up her mind to leave this place as soon as she had recovered her strength, though where she would go, she had no idea.
The prospect of returning to her mother's house filled her with a deep sense of dread, yet she might have no other choice.
Maeve's eyes began to droop as exhaustion overtook her.
She would have to regain her strength before deciding what she would do next, she thought.
For now, sleep was all she could manage.
Within moments, she slipped into a nightmare filled sleep, haunted by the sound of a lost babe crying out for its mother.
* * *
Mathew delivered the completed chain to Johnas, as he had promised, early that morning.
Bertha answered the door, a worried look upon her face.
She explained that Johnas had gone to speak with Father Thomas at the church to arrange for him to visit the townhouse and recite the Lords Blessing over the chain.
With Johnas absent from the house for the foreseeable future, Bertha invited Mathew to join her in the kitchen for a cup of tea. He accepted hesitantly. Though he liked the small, friendly woman, he could not help but feel out of place amid such grand surroundings.
Still, there was something in Bertha's worried expression that made him wonder if she had more on her mind than she was willing to say.
Thankfully, Bertha's kitchen had a far more homely feel.
She motioned for Mathew to sit in one of the delicate chairs, which he politely declined, fearing it would never support his massive frame.
Bertha poured them each a cup of tea before offering Mathew a gingerbread biscuit.
He accepted both gratefully, a crooked smile lighting his oddly proportioned face and making him look almost handsome in the dim light of the room.
"What ails ye, Bertha? Ye look as if ye carry the weight of the world upon yer shoulders," Mathew asked as he took a careful sip from the delicate cup.
Bertha paused, studying the large man standing awkwardly in her kitchen, then at last, she decided to unburden herself to him.
She told him of what Master Johnas and his guest had discussed over dinner and her worry for the healer woman, if she was fool enough to remain hidden within the woods with winter fast approaching, and of the stranger's peculiar reaction when Johnas mentioned the shadow with the glowing red eyes that had been seen in the forest.
As Bertha spoke, a growing sense of apprehension settled in Mathew's gut.
When she described the stranger's clothing and physical appearance, Mathew suddenly recognized him as one of the three men he had seen riding out of the village in the early hours of the morning.
He had taken noticed of them only because two of the men had been wearing the uniforms of the King's Guards, as he stoked the fire in his forge preparing for the day's labours.
Mathew's grip tightened around the delicate teacup.
"I doubt the woman is still in the forest, Bertha. She has probably returned to her village by now. As for the shadow with the red eyes, that's nothing more than a ghost story told to keep children from wandering into the forest and getting themselves lost," he said, trying to calm her fears.
"Let Johnas and his friend traipse about looking for hobgoblins until their feet bleed, for all the good it will do them."
Bertha looked somewhat relieved now that she had unburdened herself to Mathew.
Still, she wished she could know for certain that the wee woman was safely away from this place, and safely beyond Johnas's reach.
"You're probably right, Mathew. Thank ye for listening to the babblin of an old woman. Bless yer soul," she said.
They finished their tea, and Mathew excused himself, saying he must return to his work.
Bertha led him back through the house to the front entrance, where they bid each other farewell before she returned to her household duties.
Mathew stepped out into the morning air, but the easy smile he had worn for Bertha had vanished.
Her words had given him much to think about, and he could not shake the feeling that trouble was coming to the village.
* * *
Johnas sat impatiently in one of the church pews, waiting for Father Thomas to finish speaking with one of his parishioners. The woman gesticulated wildly as she spoke, while the bald priest nodded repeatedly, seemingly in agreement with whatever she was telling him.
Johnas resisted the urge to move closer and listen to their conversation. Whatever had upset the woman might prove useful to him someday, and he had learned long ago that a man was wise to keep his ears open when others were willing to speak freely.
After what seemed like hours to Johnas, Father Thomas finally managed to calm the woman.
He placed a calming arm around her shoulders and escorted her towards the door, where he spoke a few final reassuring words before she departed. Johnas watched them closely, growing increasingly impatient for the priest to turn his attention to him.
Father Thomas turned back towards the interior of the church, a look of concern still upon his face.
He moved slowly down the aisle towards where Johnas sat waiting.
"Problems with your female parishioners, Father?" Johnas asked, a mocking smile touching his lips. "Or was that woman the mother of one of your pet altar boys?"
The priest stopped and fixed Johnas with a cold, disapproving scowl at the jibe.
"And what is it you want, Johnas?" he asked, his voice betraying his growing irritation.
"Now, now Father, we must not let our temper slip, or your parishioners may discover just what it is you do to the boys under your tutelage in the sacristy before holy services." Johnas jabbed.
"A little bird told me what it is you like to do with innocent girls Johnas, so I would watch your tongue if I were you." The Priest jabbed back at him.
Leaving the implication hanging in the air between them.
Johnas shot the Priest an angry look, averting his eyes from those of the priest.
"What little bird has been whispering in your ear Priest?!" He demanded, rising to his feet.
"Never you mind, Johnas. Just know that your threats shall no longer work with me. I wonder what the fine people of the village would think if they knew their Steward was a ravisher of young girls? And I wonder what the King would do to you if he learned you had returned to your old tricks?"
Father Thomas spoke quietly, each word carefully chosen. He had no need to raise his voice.
The accusation itself was threat enough, as he deliberately twisted the metaphorical blade deeper into Johnas's back.
For a moment, Johnas said nothing, his face hardening as he stared at the priest.
Johnas sat down heavily on the pew, reluctantly conceding defeat to the balding cleric standing over him.
For now anyway.
" Fine father you keep your peace, and I shall do the same," he said, before requesting that the cleric come to his home to bless the chain that Mathew was due to deliver that morning.
Father Thomas agreed, telling Johnas that he would come after Vespers that evening.
Johnas rose from the pew and strode towards the church doors, fuming inwardly.
Who could have dared tell the priest of his deeds? He would discover who the cleric's little bird was, and when he did, oh, how they would pay. By the time he stepped outside, Johnas had already begun turning over the names of those who might have betrayed him.
* * *
Mathew could not concentrate on his work for the rest of the day after his conversation with Bertha. His mind kept returning to Ferdy and Al-bert's story of the healer being seen at her cottage.
If they had spotted her there only days ago, then she had not moved on at all, as he had told Bertha.
She was still in the forest.
Mathew placed his hammer upon the anvil, removed his leather apron, and hung it on the peg.
Without a word, he headed through the streets towards The Wolf And Lamb in search of Ferdy or Albert.
He needed to question them about exactly what the boy had told them concerning the healer.
Mathew made his way inside the tavern and quickly spotted Albert at the bar, deep in conversation with William Talbot.
He walked up behind him and placed one large hand upon Albert's shoulder.
"I need to speak to ye, Albert. In private," Mathew said, glancing towards William.
Albert turned, looking up into the giant's face.
"Jeezus, Mathew! I nearly shat me trousers. I thought it were Death himself comin' fer me when ye grabbed me like that," Albert snickered.
But his amusement quickly faded when he saw the serious expression on Mathew's face.
"Alright, Mathew. Come on. We can talk at that table over there," Albert said, indicating a table away from the other tavern patrons.
Mathew nodded and followed him, his expression grim.
Mathew stood with his back pressed to the wall, he hated sitting in untested chairs due to his size.
Albert stood next to him rather than have the giant of a man looming over him as he sat.
"What do ye want to speak to me about Mathew," he asked.
"What did you and Ferdy see in the healer's cottage?" Mathew inquired. Albert gave him a sideways glance.
" Why do ye want to know?"
" I want to know if it was the healer, or if it were another." Mathew's answered him.
"Look, me and Ferdy didn't see no one inside the cottage. It were a small boy who told Johnas he'd seen the witch digging around in a box. Me and Ferdy just heard the little mite screaming while we was out on patrol. We came runnin' and found him hiding in the corner of the kitchen.
"Johnas went lookin' after he'd talked to the boy and found an empty box, but there was no sign of the witch. That's all I knows," Albert told Mathew.
The giant stared at him for several moments before finally speaking.
"What was the boy's name?"
"His mam called him Robin," Albert replied.
Mathew's eyes widened. "You mean Mabel's boy?"
"Yeah. Do you know her?" Albert asked.
"I should, she's my wife's sister." Mathew said.
Mathew pushed himself away from the wall and hurried towards the tavern door, leaving Albert standing alone beside the wall, staring after him in confusion.
Mathew made straight for his wife's sister's house. If he could speak with Robin, the boy might be able to confirm whether the woman he had seen at the cottage was indeed the healer.
Mabel answered the door, looking surprised to find Mathew standing upon her stoop in the middle of the working day.
"What is it? Has somethin' happened to Kara or one of yer bairns?" she asked in a sudden panic.
"No, Mabel. They're all faring well," Mathew assured her. "I wanted to ask Robin about what he saw in the healer's cottage."
" Christ Jesus, Mathew not ye as well?!" Mabel said loudly. " Hasn't Robin been through enough, what with those other shifty characters askin' him all sorts of questions, and now his uncle as well?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, Mabel, but Bertha and I are worried about the healer woman. I only want to ask Robin whether it truly was her he saw, or someone else," Mathew pleaded.
Mabel studied him for a moment, her worry giving way to reluctant curiosity. At last, she stepped aside and opened the door wider.
"Robin!" she called into the house. "Come here, lad, yer Uncle Mathew wants a word with ye."
Robin dropped his toy soldiers and ran, throwing himself into Mathew's arms when he saw him enter the cottage. He had always liked his uncle, even though Mathew was the biggest person he had ever seen, and, in Robin's eyes, the kindest. One day, Robin wanted to be just as big and strong as his uncle.
Mathew held the boy in his enormous arms, careful not to squeeze him too tightly. He kissed Robin on the cheek before squatting down beside him, bringing himself level with the boy's dark brown eyes.
"Robin, tell Uncle Mathew what ye saw inside the healer's cottage," he asked gently.
Robin stepped back a pace, then returned to his uncles arms.
" I saw the witch." Robin told his uncle truthfully.
" Are ye sure it was the woman who lived there or did ye see another?" he asked Robin.
"No, I recognized her. She used to give me biscuits when I would visit her with Mam. She were a nice lady. Why do they call her a witch now, Uncle Mathew?" Robin asked, absently playing with Mathew's long braid as he spoke.
"People can be cruel, Robin," Mathew replied gently. "But tell me, why did ye cry out if the woman was always kind to ye?" he asked.
Robin's little face grew thoughtful as he considered the question.
" I was scared in the dark, and peoples call her a witch. I thought she was gonna snatch me up, and take me away from Mam." Robin said, with a two year old's logic.
Mathew looked up at Mabel with a smile.
"I think we're done with the questions for now, Robin. Why don't ye go play with yer wooden soldiers and let me talk to your Mam for a while?" his uncle said, rising awkwardly from his squat with a loud grunt.
Robin nodded and returned to his toy soldiers as Mabel led Mathew into the kitchen, safely out of the boy's earshot. Once they were alone, she turned to him, her expression troubled.
"What do ye make of all this talk of Eldra being a witch, Mathew?" she asked.
" I think it's a bushel of bull shite." Mathew said. " Listen Mabel don't go tellin your neighbors about me comin' to ask Robin about the healer. Keep it between us two. I'll tell you one thing, if the woman is out in the forest alone, I intend to find her, and help her get as far away from here, and that son of a whore Johnas as possible."
Mathew started to leave then turned back, "And Mabel don't go tellin Kara what I plan to do, I don't want her worryin about me."
Mabel glanced through the kitchen doorway at Robin playing on the floor, then back at Mathew.
" I hope yer right about the healer, I don't want anything to happen to me bairns like happened to those poor weans." Mabel said with a haunted look in her eyes.
Mathew took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Don't ye worry, Mabel," he said softly.
He released her hand and made his way from the cottage, passing through the garden gate and out onto the muddy track.