Crowner's Dilemma - Part Eighteen

[ismenin]

Another of summershobbit 's lovely pics. :D



Right ho, me hearties! Here I am, again - cor, you've had a few doses of me this week! - with this Sunday's episode of my story.

I was woken up early today, by a vision of cabbages, a carrot and some string, but I am resisting writing it until I finish part 19 of CD. One has to draw the line somewhere, childer!!

Some things must be firmly suppressed until the appropriate time - say, four o'clock in the morning, when one can't sleep!

So here is


Thanks, as always, to ladysunrope for her beta skill.

Part 18


Dom stared at John blearily through the bruised, swollen slits that covered his eyes, shading them from the bright morning sun shining in through the room's only window. "What has come to him, John? I do not understand what you are trying to tell me. Be plain, I beg you!"

John shifted uncomfortably on the wooden stool beside Dom's bed. His friend was housed in a small, but decently furnished cell off the main infirmary in the abbey, and was waited upon and tended by two stout, but gentle elderly nuns, who treated him with the utmost respect and delicacy. In truth, Dom had been glad of their ministrations, for in the days that followed his arrival, he had found it impossible to even scratch his own nose, so bruised and battered had he been.

Now four days had passed, and he was hopeful of being allowed out of bed that day, if John permitted it. He was not stupid enough to run counter to John's wishes. If John said he was to lie a-bed another day, then that he would do.

But now John was telling him that Elijah was in some sort of a daze after Richard had confessed to him that he had beaten Dom. And Elijah could not - or would not - wake from it.

"I think he believes Richard has had you killed, Dom. Lij knows after all, from what Umar has told me, that he is capable of it, after Acre...."

Dom gently wiped his bruised nose, and shook his head. Richard would certainly have killed him if Vincent had not saved him. It was the last thing he remembered before waking, here, in the quiet peace of the abbey - Vincent pinning the king to the floor, and shouting at him.

"I could write to Lij, John. My hands are much better now."

Dom had broken two fingers on his left hand defending himself from Richard's blows, and they were splinted and strapped. But he was sure he could write. His right hand was only swollen, after all. If parchment and ink could be brought, he said, he would write...

"But what is the use?" he continued, out loud, "if he is not awake to read it?"

John passed Dom the watered wine and bade him drink a little. "It could be read to him, Dom. He might hear it somewhere deep inside himself, especially if you were to put something that only he and yourself knew of. It is worth the attempt. In a couple of days I will allow you to go to Beauvallet - but not quite yet. It would not reassure him to have you put to bed, in a fainting condition, the minute you arrive."

Dom was worried. He voiced his fears. "But the king has forbidden me Beauvallet, for Umar has told me so. How can I go back there?" As much as he longed to see his Elijah, the prospect of Richard's fury loomed large in his mind.

John smiled. "You need not fear, Dom. You forget that Vincent is at the castle, and he is mightily angered at the king for treating you so, and therefore bringing Elijah to this sorry pass. And the church is as strong - if not a stronger - force in the land, than is the king. Do not forget, the people do not know Richard, he is never here, after all - but they do know the church, and how far its arm can reach."

"His Grace the Archbishop has ordered the king to let you in to see Elijah. He had gained you time with him, and he has promised to take Richard out of Beauvallet before you come there. It is better than nothing, and Richard is as anxious to see Elijah returned to his right sens...good health...as are all of us."

Dom was thinking of parchment, and ink, and what he should write, and did not notice John’s hesitation, or the quick glance John gave him or the look of relief on John’s face as he realised that Dom had missed the implication that all was not well with Elijah's mind.

The parchment and ink were brought by one of the cheerful nuns set to aid Dom while he was the abbey’s guest. "Here you are, Sir Dominic! The abbess sends to you her sincere best wishes, and said to tell you she will be glad to see you when both of you are a little more recovered. And please will you send her most affectionate regards to the duke, in your letter, as well."

Dom was not sure as to the total veracity of the last part of the nun's statement, but he said all that was proper in reply to this pronouncement. However, his mind was elsewhere. What could he tell Elijah that was intimate to them, but which would be overlooked by a jealous Richard? For Dom was certain the king would want to read the missive.

He dipped the pen in the inkhorn, and began...


To my dear friend, and colleague, the Most Noble Duke of Stanford, from your Grace's most humble servant.

I am relieved to hear from John that your Grace's fever has much abated, but for that he tells me that you are still not completely well, I would be a very happy man. I wish next to hear that you have completely recovered, for I value your friendship highly, and I miss your good-natured and cheerful company.

I take leave to tell you, on her instruction, that your aunt, the abbess, is much stronger today, and that she hopes to be able to meet with me very soon. You must know the joy that this prospect brings to me! She sends to you her sincere regards and affection.

I was remembering the day we spent at Laxton, hunting that mad fellow who murdered the baker in the village. I am certain you must remember it, for you fell off the stile dividing the farmer's fields, where the killer was hiding out, and went straight into the mud, and we had to wash it from your garments - and from inside your boots - in the horse-trough before we could proceed with the arrest.

You said if I told anyone of this undignified occurrence, you would have my guts for garters, and I swear I never did tell...until this moment, for I fear John will read this to you, if Vincent does not. So all is revealed.

The vision of you hobbling about the farmyard in your bare feet, avoiding the cow-pats, and the farmer's wife trying not to laugh as she washed your stockings - and then her giving you a tunic, and a pair of her husband's hosen to wear - everything three sizes too large - was a sight I still cherish in my heart.
We laughed about it for days afterwards- after you discovered your dignity had not been compromised by anyone of note seeing you return to the city in farmer Watson's best purple Sunday tunic and his red-striped holiday hosen. We were fortunate we only met with Father Orlando on the way.

I am feeling much better, and John says I may come to see you in a few days. Vincent has decreed that I may do this, so you need not fret. All shall be well.

It will be such a pleasure to see you again. We have enjoyed many companionable hours together, dear friend, have we not? Until we meet, soon, I pray ever for your welfare,

your Grace's most sincere friend, and humble servant,

Dominic Mortain.


John read it, and smiled. "It might ease his mind. I pray it does. There is nothing writ there that cannot be viewed by the strictest reader. Now I must go. Although there have been no more fallen sick, four of those we have there are most seriously ill. I promised Umar I would be back so that he may rest.
You may get up, this evening, for your meal, for one hour, only. And you are not to leave this room, is it understood? Then we shall see what tomorrow brings."

Dom was so thrilled with the prospect of an hour out of bed, that he fell almost immediately asleep.

***

In the early evening Vincent was sitting beside Elijah's bed, holding his brother's hand and talking to him in a low voice. There was no response from the man lying still in the bed. Over and over he had read Dom's letter to him, and whispered Dom's words of loving concern into Elijah's unresponsive ear.

Earlier in the day, Richard had appeared in the doorway, and one glance at the archbishop's face was enough to have the king backing hurriedly out of the chamber. Vincent had followed him. He closed the door, quietly, and glared once again at his cousin, who had the grace to blush, and to study his feet with interest.

"Until Lij wakes, and informs us that he wishes to see you, you will keep from this room, Dick - do I make myself plain? You are the cause of his present state - you alone - and I will not have him disturbed further. My God, man, do you not remember?"

Richard put out his hand, and then lowered it. "I remember, no-one better, and, therefore, I will do as you say, Vince. But never forget that I do it of my own free will. You are in no position to order me to bend to your orders," he declared, softly, but with a spark of arrogance that was not lost on Vincent.

"No, and neither do you exercise any power over me, coz. I answer to the Holy Father, and to God, as I have often told you. Now, if you wish to help Lij, go to the chapel and offer up some prayers for his recovery, for he needs, at this present, all the help he can get."

Richard nodded, and, turning, silently descended the stairs. But before he went to the chapel, he sent one of his guards to Mottage to fetch St Aubin's belongings. He would see the paper that John had sent to the sheriff. If there was truth in what he said, and John had declared him dead, St Aubin would be allowed to live, for all Richard cared about it. His death would profit the king nothing.

***

Dom enjoyed the evening meal. It was a tender roast fowl, which did not hurt his healing mouth, and a very nice syllabub of soft summer fruits, cream and a good wine. This was followed by soft cheese, salted butter and the finest soft, white pandemain bread. It was the most he had eaten in a week, and he felt better for it. That it was not ordinary abbey fare was plain to him. He was grateful for the thought obviously put into his meal.

He felt as if he was well enough for a short walk in the grounds, but resisted the temptation. John had ordered him to return to bed after dinner, and this he did, not willing to risk the chance of being discovered, or worse, having to be helped back, and thus losing the chance of being allowed up on the following day.

It was still light, the summer evening being particularly fine, but he was surprised when Astin appeared at his doorway, carrying a large bag. He smiled at Dom, and asked if he could come in.

Dom, thrilled to see anyone not wearing a wimple and black robes, and who was not trying either to give him a bed-bath, or make him swallow some filthy-tasting potion, grinned at the duke's steward.

"Good even to you. What have you there?" he asked, as Astin placed the bag on the floor and began delving in its depths.

"I give ye God-den, sir! Two things, sheriff," the man grinned back. "Firstly, four bottles of the duke's best wine, sent, with his kindest regards, by his Grace, the archbishop. Secondly, half a roast ham, in case you are being starved, which is from me. But I see," continued the man, glancing at the remains of Dom's excellent meal, "that you are in no need of sustenance."

He put the wine on the floor, in a corner beside the window, to keep cool, and, rootling about once more in the depths of the bag, brought out a sheaf of parchment, encased in a leather roll.

"And here, Sir Dominic, are your notes!" he said, triumphantly placing the bundle on the bed.

Dom was both surprised and pleased. He would have something to occupy the long hours spent here, before he was allowed back to the castle to see Elijah.

"It is very kind in you to have brought them to me," Dom said, pulling out one of the pages and glancing over it. "Time will pass more swiftly, now. I thank you."

"I did not bring ink or pens. For I know the abbey is well supplied with both, as I bring them here from Beauvallet, and..."

"Astin, " Dom interrupted, without ceremony. "How does his lordship?"

Astin's face froze, but he tried to keep his feelings from the sheriff, whom, he could see, was still far from well.

"He was sleeping when I left, sir. The archbishop said to tell you that his brother was no worse. You may trust his Grace to always be truthful. May I take a message from you to his lordship, should he be awake when I return? For I must go, now, before they lower the bridge for the night - the king being there, and all."

Astin was certain there was little chance of the duke being awake, but he said what he did from a desire to be kind, and to help his master's lover. Because he liked both men. They did not treat him as a lackey, as the king did - sometimes behaving as if he was not even there. So it had always been with Richard. Astin did not like the king, but he kept his thoughts mostly to himself. It would not do to publish those feelings abroad.

Dom studied the steward's face carefully. "Tell him I send my fondest love, and that I will be thinking of him constantly, until I see him again. And give his Grace the Archbishop my sincere and grateful thanks for the wine, and for...for tending so carefully to my...dearest friend."

Astin nodded. "That I will do, you may be sure of it. I hope you have a restful night, Sir Dominic," and with that, he bowed and was gone.

Dom rested his aching back against the pillows and picked up the parchment roll, withdrawing a fresh sheet. The ink and pen were still there, on the table beside his bed, so he pulled up his knees, rested the scroll and parchment upon them, and began to write a letter to Ben and Red. He hoped the sickness had not come near them. He promised to visit them when he was well enough.

***

Elijah was lying somewhere warm and comfortable. He sensed that there was someone with him, but that someone, he was certain, was not Dom. It was not Dom's hand holding his - it was... the thought drifted away.

He pondered on what his cousin had said to him. Elijah knew Richard, well. He knew him for a jealous, vengeful man, capable of anything to get his own way. Capable of killing Dom.

Dom had not come to Elijah, though he had prayed hard for him to do so. Elijah knew, therefore, that Dom was dead. Nothing else but death would have prevented his love coming to him, when he needed him so desperately...

Wherever this warm, comfortable place was, it was better than any world without Dom in it.
Life without Dom would be...as it was before he met him.
Life would be...empty. And Elijah no longer wished to live an empty life. He would stay here, in the dark, in peace.
Elijah sank further down into the warmth, and dreamed of Dom.

***

Vincent went down to eat dinner, and left John with Elijah. Richard did not need to ask Vincent how his brother fared, for it was written plain in the man's pale face.

Richard could think of nothing to say that would not immediately make matters worse. Therefore, he kept silent, and applied himself to his mutton.

Umar came in as they were finishing the meal, and bowing to both men, informed them that two of the patients in the infirmary had died, but that the other two were somewhat better than they had been earlier.

"It is a strange sickness, your Graces," he commented, refusing a seat at the table with a polite but firm gesture. "No-one can say how it will take a man - or woman. The strong, healthy ones seem to fare worse, when the disease strikes them. It is an enigma."

He paused for a moment, before continuing, "I shall go to John, now, and see how his lordship fares. If you will excuse me." He bowed himself out.

Vincent sighed. "It gives me a little hope to know that Umar was with Elijah at Acre, Dick. He brought him out of that fetch. Let us pray he can do it again."

Richard rose with the archbishop, and followed him into the chapel without another word. There was nothing else to be done. All they had left to them was prayer.

***

Dom woke the next morning to the sound of one of his elderly nurses tutting over him. "Now look what you've done, Sir Dominic! Indeed and indeed! And only I know how difficult it is to get iron-gall ink out of linens. Look you!"

Dom, reminded forcibly of his childhood nurse, stared obediently at the ink stains on the sheet and upon his night-shirt, and gave the sister a wry, apologetic smile. She was not immune to his charms. She smiled back.

"Perhaps today Father John will allow you to sit at the table and write. He is with the Venerable Abbess now, and will be here shortly. Come along, sir - out of that stained shirt! We cannot have him say we are not looking after you."

A pang of sorrow ran through Dom's chest as he thought that never again would Elijah hear Wenna's voice chiding him in such a way as this. He pressed his lips firmly together as he rose from the bed, and removed the dirty shirt. He would discover who killed her, despite Richard, and his jealous rages. He would find these murderers, for his Lij.

He moved to the wash-bowl, and went about his morning toilet with more purpose now that he had something upon which to focus his mind.

For Elijah, he would do it.


It was not long afterwards that John came in. He gave Dom a most thorough examination, before nodding his head. "Those stitches can come out in two days," he said, pushing Dom's chin to one side the better to examine the sutures in Dom's head and face.

Dom tried for a light note. "At least they will not spoil my beauty, being as I had none to begin with," he said with a grin.

John tipped up Dom's face with a gentle hand, and looked at his friend carefully. "Elijah told me that he thought you the most handsome man alive," he said, smiling into Dom's shocked eyes. "Beauty is not always to be found on the outside, Dom Mortain. Therefore, I think Elijah is quite right in his assertion. And I am equally sure that you think the same of him."

Dom's look became wistful. "I do, indeed. But that is no surprise, for he has the most beautiful face that I have ever seen. There can be no comparison between me and Lij."

John shook his head. "My dear old friend. I have heard it said - more than once - that his Grace's features, particularly his eyes, closely resemble those of a frog, and that surely no-one could be expected to admire such a small, delicately formed creature. In some quarters, believe me, you are considered the better-looking man."

Dom did not know how to reply to this puzzling statement. He closed his mouth, and coughed once or twice to clear his throat. "Yes, well, that is as it may be - when may I see him, John? Will it be long?"

"A few days more," John said, re-packing his scrip. "You may get up today, and we will see how you are in two or three days time."

As he went out through the door, he added. "Go easy, now, Dom. You are a sensible man, but that was a hard beating you took, and the damage will take time to heal. Gently does it, at first, and I will see what I think of you on Friday."

His voice floated back up the corridor. "The abbess wishes to see you, if you feel you have the strength."

Dom was grateful the sister had brought in a substantial breakfast. If he was to meet with the venerable Gertruda, he would need his strength - and his wits - about him.

***

Dom did not find the abbess in her office, as he had expected. A young novice told him she was sitting in the flower gardens, under a tree. She looked up as he approached, tidied the rug covering her legs, and gave him what passed on her face for a smile as he bowed before her.

"Venerable Lady, you wished to see me?" he said, sitting, as she indicated, on a second chair, placed at her side.

"I did. Father John has told me nothing of the reason that you are here, and why you are not being cared for, by him, at Beauvallet. But you must know that I am no fool, Sir Dominic. If Richard is there, trouble will haunt my nephew. I am grateful Vincent is there, for the king is besotted by Elijah - and does not take well being...refused."

Dom blinked. The abbess was not so blind to her family's problems as one might think, despite her being immured within the confines of an abbey, rarely leaving it to visit the outside world.

She cast him an appraising glance before fixing her attention upon a rose bush nearby. "Is that how it was, sheriff? Did Richard attack you because of Elijah's... attachment... to you?"

Dom was not sure how to answer, but something in her face surprised him. A look of compassion, not censure.

"The king did beat me, my lady, yes. And forbid me to return to the castle, or to see Elijah, from what I can gather. I was not... myself when the pronouncement was made."

The abbess raised her shoulders and sighed. "Ever was Richard a rough creature, just like his father. The workings of his brain follow very slowly behind applications of his boot and fist, and not before."

She put her hand on Dom's knee. "You need not fear he will come here to molest you. I still have the power to make him sweat, do not concern yourself."

Dom thanked her, gravely. "I am grateful to you, my lady. I would like to see Elijah, as his Grace the Archbishop has said I may. I pray it will be soon."

"It will be soon. You seem in a fair way to be mending, and Elijah will be much comforted by your presence, I know. We must let nothing come in the way of his recovery. He was here, you know, for some time, after he returned from Outremer..."

Her voice tailed away, and she looked at him, carefully examining his face before continuing. "I take leave to tell you he was very sick. His mind had been...disordered...as well as his body injured, and, although he was getting stronger, Andrew and I were not certain he would fully recover. And, also, he did not have the services, then, of the excellent Father Barebone."

Dom saw that her eyes were bright with tears. "I have kept my feelings from my nephew, because I did not want to reveal - even to myself - that I had come to love him as much as I had loved his father, my brother. So I treated him with a coldness bordering on dislike. I know, now, that I was very wrong to do so."

"I thought it might help him to become a better man if he was not able to rely on my good favour all the time. He had Wenna, after all, when his mother died, and I thought that too many women hovering about him would make him soft. Now I see that he has become a good man despite me, not because of me. It does not help me, now, to learn that he dislikes me. We live, and learn. It is a hard school, life. But, now, you must know how it is. To love, yet not to be near those that you love."

Dom answered quietly. "I am not used to being out of his company, lady. These last months we have been working much together, and I ..."

She interrupted with a snort. "It is true that I am a maiden lady, and not fully awake upon all matters of physical love. But do not try to tell me, Sir Dominic, that you do not love my nephew, or that he does not love you! I have seen you together, do not forget - and your feelings for each other shine out of you both like beacons. Now what do you say? Do you love him?"

Dom held her gaze before he spoke. "I cannot deny it - I will not deny it, not to you. I love him, yes. Truly, I do!"

The abbess patted his knee. "It is not my business to judge your behaviour - I leave that to God's infinite mercy. I believe what you say, and therefore we must find a way for you to help him. I will come with you when you go to Beauvallet. With Vincent and myself there, Richard will be powerless to prevent you bringing Lij back from...wherever it is he goes at these times. And that I would have."

"I need both of your minds to be bent upon the matter of these murders, for I see that your minds work closely together.
Three deaths, so Astin tells me. Poor Dame Rowenna, too. Well, it must be all be resolved, and quickly. I am convinced, that together, you will accomplish it."

She clapped her hands together, and smiled at him, again. A warmer smile than he had ever seen upon her face.

"Now, Sir Dominic, we must get to work, and formulate a plan!"