He may not have felt her tender touch on his hands, yet Herbert’s face revealed that he felt the gentleness in his heart. He raised her to her feet, then looked in the general direction of the physician, his eyes pleading once more for a reprieve from the torment of his deadly illness.
Gamel wiped the tears from his cheeks and chose to address the wife instead. “My lady, I will offer you one hope. Your husband does not exhibit enough signs of the affliction to be certain he has the disease.”
“There must be some cure…”
“There are as many treatments as there are physicians. A few claim success with castration which cools the body. Others praise potions of honey mixed with rosemary or cumin and drunk with wine. More use cupping or bleeding.” Gamel looked over at Sister Anne. “I have found nothing of man’s creation that heals leprosy, my lady. Instead, I advise your husband to seek a cure at the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury, well-known for many miracles. Lepers bathed in water blessed with a drop of the martyr’s blood have been spontaneously cleansed.”
“Hope,” the lady murmured.
“Until such time as the true nature of his condition is revealed, I have promised your husband that I will remain by his side.” He turned his head away from the sub-infirmarian. “I shall inform my son of my continued absence from London. My own need for pilgrimage is great, suffering as I do from so many sins. St. Thomas shows much kindness to the penitent.”
Margaret’s eyes brightened as she looked up at the baron. “In that case, my lord, we must swiftly arrange a marriage for Umfrey, your heir. While we undertake this healing pilgrimage in search of God’s mercy, he shall act in your stead here. A good helpmeet will give him the comfort he needs in that endeavor.”
Herbert winced as if the thought of Umfrey as heir struck him like a dagger blow. “He is not capable…” Looking down at his wife, he fell silent.
Margaret continued gazing upon her husband with unblinking joy.
Thomas stepped forward. “May I have leave to speak on behalf of your two sons, my lord?”
The baron nodded permission, his eyes never leaving his wife’s face.
“Although bound to honor your will with filial obedience, Umfrey begs to be released from worldly duty. In penance for his sins, he longs to serve God for the remainder of his life and to renounce his right of inheritance in favor of Raoul. Were he able, he would come before you and swear that the miracle of his survival is proof that God demands his service, a command he would obey. He asked me to kneel on his behalf and beg you to grant his plea.” The monk got down on his knees.
Herbert blinked in surprise. “What does Raoul say of this?”
“Your youngest son humbly adds his supplication to that of his brother, saying that he dare not ignore God’s clear intent, although he will honor your decision in this matter.” Thomas gestured toward the physician. “I must add one detail in support of Umfrey’s belief that God saved him for His service. Master Gamel concludes that the cross Raoul brought to comfort his elder brother diverted the knife blow.”
Gamel swiftly concurred.
“Should you grant your heir’s entreaty, Raoul vows to build a hermitage on this island where Umfrey may live out his life in solitary prayer. In this way, the brothers shall not be parted. Each man swears to perform his new responsibilities with honor and courage.” Thomas rose and stepped back.
“Grant Umfrey’s plea, my lord!” Lady Margaret placed one hand on her heart.
For the first time since his return from Acre, Baron Herbert smiled with happiness. Then he gave his consent.
Chapter Thirty-Six
There was a hint of sweetness in the wind, although it was chill against the skin like the touch of a fall apple picked on a frosty morning. The sea below murmured softly, a sound sailors called mermaid lullabies.
As Sir Hugh of Wynethorpe’s company rode over the narrow isthmus between castle and mainland, Prioress Eleanor took advantage of the cautious pace and glanced down at the jagged rocks which had slain Sir Leonel ahead of the king’s hangman. She felt an ache of sadness, wished that she had not, and then wondered if God had also grieved when His most beautiful angel tumbled into Hell’s pit.
Perhaps my fault lies not in mourning the loss, she thought, but rather in succumbing to the sorcery of a fair demeanor. And that the baron’s nephew had most certainly possessed, in measure equal to what he lacked in honorable intent. She was not often fooled by fine words and a pleasing face, but Eleanor knew lust had blinded her. Forcing herself to look away from the precipice, she prayed that her sorrow over his death would prove as shallow as the nature of the man.
Near the cliff at the edge of the forest, the travelers paused until all had crossed and gathered closely together for safety. Looking up at the trees, Eleanor watched the damp, crooked branches shimmer in the rays of winter light that burst through gaps in the broken clouds. “Have I dreamt all that happened?” the prioress said aloud, delighting at the sight of this more tranquil land.
Sister Anne looked around and edged her mount closer to her prioress’ side. “If only that were true.” Her murmured words splintered into white mist.
Together, the women turned to gaze back at Baron Herbert’s stronghold.
A morning haze wafted around the towers of Doux et Dur as if it were a light veil swirled by a woman’s hand. Nearer the ground, thick fog hid the dark foundation stones with a magic cloak. Like an image in a dream or vision, the fortress appeared to float above the island.
The friends looked back at each other in wonder. Had they not just left the gates, they might have concluded that the place was home to a mocking and devious spirit. Most others would surely think the place ill-omened. Shivering, they turned away from the sight and sought comfort in fellow mortals.
Seeing her brother at the head of the armed guard, Eleanor raised her hand in greeting.
He waved back, then ordered the party forward along the road through the forest.
The company was eager to travel on.
This segment of the journey would be the most dangerous. Outlaws hid in the dense woodlands and fed on the purses of travelers who were not so well-protected by armed men as this prioress and her high-born brother. Nonetheless, those who assumed that numbers and good swordsmanship were adequate protection often fell prey to the onslaught of desperate men. Sir Hugh made sure that his soldiers remained as alert as dogs in the hunt.
For Eleanor, however, the most perilous part was over. She was going home. As the company entered the dense forest, she found comfort in the heavy evergreen boughs overhead and thick greenery encroaching on the road. All this was God’s creation. Compared to the evil she had striven against in the baron’s castle, this otherwise forbidding woodland was reassuring.
She sighed, then turned to seek her friend who was riding nearby.
A rare flush of color rose to Anne’s cheeks, and she quickly bent down to touch something on the neck of her mount.
“Shall you confess to Brother Thomas?” Eleanor softened her words with understanding, knowing well where her friend’s thoughts had drifted. “His heart is as gentle as his eyes are sharp. He will not be troubled by your admission regarding Master Gamel,” she said. “I think he saw what was growing between you and the good physician early in the journey here.”
“I sinned, my lady.”
“Not in the flesh.”
“Is the heart not flesh? Do the eyes not offend? Our bodies may not have committed any transgression, yet our thoughts did.” Anne’s cheeks began to glisten in the sunlight. “Does a woman ever forget a man’s loving touch once she has been pleasured in bed?” She covered her eyes with one hand.