Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

"No, no. There's plenty wine. You see, it is a letter from my fair cousin. A letter I have awaited for some time. I shall attend you much better after I have satisfied my curiosity."

Reluctantly, Martin and Ambrose accepted wine from Scorby's surly companions. Martin had a bad feeling about all this and contemplated the room silently. Ambrose tried to engage the men in conversation, but even his considerable charm failed to elicit a smile or a cordial word from the men. The four sat and waited, Martin and Ambrose exchanging worried glances, the retainers glaring alternately at the door through which Scorby had disappeared and at Martin, the three dogs breathing loudly and snorting in their unpleasant dreams.

At last, as footsteps sounded outside the door, the two companions rose. Thank God, Martin thought, Scorby is returning. But, to Martin's dismay, the men shouted to the dogs, and the monsters

leapt upon Martin and Ambrose, knocking them back off the bench and trapping them under their huge paws. They stank of raw meat and urine. Scorby's men tied Martin's hands behind his back and tied his legs, then did the same to Ambrose.

"Please, please, my hands. Do not cut off the blood to my hands," Ambrose begged them.

The retainers laughed and called off the dogs.

"You might sit them back on the bench," Scorby said from the doorway. He sounded delighted. As if this were sport. Tanner stood next to him.

Martin growled as he was heaved unceremoniously onto the bench. "What is the meaning of this? We come here in good faith, delivering a letter that you might have received much later had we left it with the Dean of Ripon as we'd been asked, and you have your men attack us? And tie us up? Are you mad?" He winced as they heaved Ambrose up on the bench next to him. Blood dribbled from Ambrose's mouth. "You're animals."

"It is nothing. Just bit my tongue," Ambrose whispered.

Martin kicked his bound feet up into the groin of the man in front of him. As the man howled and clutched himself, Martin noticed a signet ring on the man's dirty hand. Will Crounce's signet ring. "Sweet Jesu," Martin murmured, realizing what that must mean. What all this must mean. "The Archbishop delivered us into the hands of my nemesis."

"The Archbishop did not," Ambrose hissed. "It was your idea to deliver the letter."

"Indeed." Scorby had resumed his seat. "And how did you guess at your misfortune?" He chuckled. The hand that played with the fur trim on the collar sported a ruby ring.

How had Martin missed it before? "You and your retainer wear the rings of dead men."

"Clever, Wirthir. Do you know, my cousin is angry with me that I have not killed you yet."

"Your cousin? You mean the letter?"

"Yes. Pity you did not recognize the seal of Mistress Perrers. Alice Perrers. The King's beloved."

"Perrers?" Martin groaned. It could not be worse. "When I knew her, she had no seal."

"When you took her money and then sold her name to that Chiriton swine, you mean. Well, yes, my dear cousin Alice has risen rather quickly. She gave birth this autumn to King Edward's bastard son. It has enhanced her position quite remarkably. Clever Alice."

A bastard son for an aging King. Alice Perrers would now wield great power at court. As long as she silenced any accusations of treason. "What has she promised you?" Martin had money hidden away. Perhaps he could bribe this madman.

Scorby nodded to Tanner, who moved to stand behind Ambrose. Scorby smiled. "I am to be invited to court as soon as- Well, she is angry with me, but when I deliver proof to her that I have completed my task, she will relent." He stood up. "Tanner, hold the musician."

Tanner grabbed Ambrose. Martin lurched away, but he was grabbed by the other two men.

"Loosen Wirthir's bonds and bring him over by the fire," Scorby said. "You know what I must do." He walked away as the two men hoisted Martin up and took him over to a table by the fire, then untied his hands and held him still.

Scorby approached with a sword in hand, a gleeful glint in his eye. "Sweet Alice is angry about the hands, but it was my Kate's request. And, in her memory, I must complete her father's curse."

As Martin and Ambrose screamed their protests, the men forced Martin's right hand down onto the table. Martin looked up in horror at the lust in Scorby's face as he lifted the sword with both hands.

Sweet Savior, forgive me my sins. And give him strength to do it right the first time. In a moment of dreadful clarity, Martin watched the sword descend. It took forever to reach him. He howled at the sight of his blood rushing forth long before the searing pain hit him. And then Martin stumbled, almost fainting.

Ambrose broke out of Tanner's grasp, but the dogs were waiting. "Martin! My God, Martin!" Ambrose was yelling.

Martin looked over at Ambrose and wondered woozily why his friend was on the floor, pinned down by the hounds of Hell.

"Pity that poor Kate could not witness the end," Scorby said. "She hated you the most, Wirthir. Said you'd killed her brother."

"Cauterize his wrist, for pity's sake," Ambrose pleaded. "Martin, can you hear me?"

"I hear," Martin whispered, steadying himself against the table. But Ambrose seemed to speak from a distance, and the room buckled and changed shape as he stood there. His right hand hurt unbearably. "I do not think I can stand up much longer," he whispered. Strong arms caught him up.

"Take them below," Scorby ordered. "I will visit them shortly."

The dungeon with its seeping walls and fetid air was fitting for a house with a moat and drawbridge. Ambrose wondered what the family protected itself against. But his thoughts were all for Martin as he was dumped, unconscious, on the filthy floor. They'd tied a rag on his mutilated wrist, but it was already soaked with blood. Ambrose dropped to his knees beside Martin and put his head on his friend's chest. His heart still beat. Praise be the Lord. Where there was life, there was hope.

"Please untie my hands so I might assist him," Ambrose begged the man who wore the signet.

"And what do you think you might do, eh?"

"I can at least try to stop the bleeding."

The man brought his torch closer and examined the blood-soaked rag. "I suppose, being in the dungeon and all." He untied Ambrose.

"Could you bring some wine for the pain when he wakes?"

"He won't be living much longer. The Master has plans for him."

"But a person can die of pain."

The man snorted. "I'd be dead ten times over." He spat in the corner. "Die of pain."

"There would be no more sport for Master Scorby if Martin dies of pain."

The man looked uncertain. "I'll see about it." He closed the heavy door behind him.

Ambrose sat down and took off his jacket to untie the leather lace that attached one of the sleeves to his leather vest. The lace was thin but strong. He dug in the filthy straw until he found a small, thick twig. Gently he slipped the lace under Martin's mutilated arm and tied the lace tight just above the elbow, then stuck in the twig to

twist the lace as tight as possible. Martin whimpered. Ambrose lifted Martin's head onto his lap and smoothed his sweaty brow.

And then he began to sing. He sang anything and everything he could think of. His intention was that no matter when Martin waked, he would know instantly that Ambrose was there.

Ambrose's voice was hoarse by the time a timid servant came in, bearing a pitcher of wine and two cups. "You've a voice like an angel," the woman said. "We heard you up above. Hide these under the straw after you have some. For later."

Ambrose drank gladly, and when he lifted the cup to Martin's lips, his eyes fluttered open and he drank a little. Ambrose helped Martin sit up. Martin drank more.

"Praise God you have not given up, Martin."