‘It was here,’ he said at last, just at the foot of the beech tree he had indicated from outside his house. ‘He was lying here.’
He was pointing at the base of the tree, but his eyes weren’t there. His eyes were fixed upon Agnes.
Bow
Edith knew only abject, blinding terror.
She had been raised in the house of a man who was a regular traveller and fighter. Simon had never been one to rest when there was work to be done, and he had been relentless in pursuit of those who had committed crimes. At times, Edith had known that his life could have been in danger. Her mother had even spoken once of a time when she herself had been captured by a man and Baldwin had rescued her, but this was different. It was terrifying to be so completely at the mercy of someone she scarcely knew. All she recalled about Wattere, after all, was a brief, shocking glimpse as he fought her father earlier in the year, trying to kill him in their house. Later Simon had managed to have him arrested, but that was months ago. So long, indeed, that she had almost forgotten his face.
She was so stupid not to have recognised him. He had approached through the mist, it was true, but that was no excuse. She should have recognised him. Oh, she could sob now for the foolishness of her behaviour, she could wail and beat her breast, but the truth was that it was entirely her fault. She should not have left Exeter alone, nor should she have tried to make her way back again today when Baldwin had already said to her that he would do his best. It would have been safer for all were she to have been escorted to her father’s house. She could have remained there while the men went to free her husband. Then at least she would have been secure in the knowledge that Peter would have had the very best opportunity of gaining his freedom again.
‘Not far, my little dove,’ William atte Wattere called to her.
She made no comment. Her hands were growing more and more numb by the minute, and when she looked down, she could see that they were turning blue below the rope. At least the rope had been taken from about her throat. It had chafed and worn at her flesh until she was sure that she must be bleeding, and she had been surprised when she found that there was no stain on the rope or her tunic, though she was sore from the shoulder upwards, as though she had been scorched in a fire. Still, when he took the rope away, she was aware of an odd sense of gratitude, as though he was being kind by removing it, rather than intensely cruel in placing it about her in the first place. It shamed her to be grateful.
There was a possibility that she might be able to escape, she felt. Looking up, she could see the sun as a brighter glow behind the clouds. She had been raised on Dartmoor; she was used to navigating by a half-concealed sun, and she thought that this was probably a good sign. Surely the man didn’t realise that she was so familiar with this area. She was sure that the moors were over there to her left, and this road must be the one that wandered from Crediton to Copplestone, and then on up to Bow, before curling around to Oakhampton. That was good, because if he was taking her that far, there might be a possibility of escaping him. She had already tried to loosen the ropes at her wrists, but the problem was, her captor had tied them too tightly. Not only could she not release them at first; also, now that she had lost all feeling in her fingers, there wasn’t even a possibility of working at the knots.
‘Will we rest soon? My hands are hurting so much.’
‘Soon we’ll rest,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Then something caught his attention. He threw her a look. ‘You all right?’
‘My hands,’ she said again, holding them up for inspection.
He sucked at his teeth as he looked at them. Then he muttered a short curse, stared ahead for a moment, and quickly beckoned her. He tried to prise the knots apart for a moment, and then spat an oath. Pulling his dagger from his sheath, he set the blade to the rope. Looking up, he gave her a wolfish grin. ‘Don’t move, or this’ll hurt more than it need.’
With a careful sawing motion, he cut through the knot, and the cords fell away. At first there was no feeling, no pain, just a strange tingling that seemed to begin at her fingertips, but soon that changed. The tingle became a stinging agony that reached all the way to her wrists, which now hurt like the torment of demons. She knew only screaming pain, so intense that she could not even consider holding her reins. It was impossible, and she wept as she tried to shake the pain away. She warmed her hands under her armpits, then rubbed them on her thighs, all to no avail.
Wattere looked on as her weeping began again and intensified. ‘Woman, what is it? Are you making mock of my good intentions in releasing you? I’ll not have that, I swear.’
‘My hands are on fire! Oh, oh, the pain! Oh, oh!’
Eventually he took her hands in his and studied them carefully. He could see the rawness where the rope had bound her, but the hands themselves showed no injury. ‘I am sorry I tied you so tight,’ he said. ‘But I can’t help that. I don’t want you to escape. If you swear to me that you’ll not try to run, I’ll allow you to ride on without a rope. What do you say?’
‘I swear it!’ she hissed.
‘Very well,’ he said. He slipped the rope about her waist, but even as he did it, he was gentle, and he didn’t make any attempt to touch her breasts, waist or thighs. It made her realise that he was according her as much respect as he might, under the circumstances. Once it was round her, he tied it off, and then took the loop in his hand again.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘You’ll know very soon. Sir Robert of Traci’s manor. You’ll be safe there.’
‘Why, though, sir? Why do you take me there? My family will be alarmed when I am missed. What have I ever done to you?’
‘You haven’t, mistress, but your father has. He has cut me with steel, and humiliated me before my lord. I won’t let that happen again. No, I’ll see him in hell first,’ he spat.
‘But you don’t need me. Let me go!’
‘After so much effort? No, I don’t think so, mistress. Better that you come with me and we finish what’s been started.’
Edith wailed at him. ‘But why? You’ve already stolen our house, you’ve taken away our family’s peace and comfort, and now you’ve caused me to be terrified! What is it all for?’
William atte Wattere eyed her. ‘Because, mistress, your father is an important man in the area. That’s why. He can settle the dispute in Tavistock. And he will have to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if he doesn’t, you’ll …’
But he couldn’t finish his sentence. Instead he spurred his horse into a trot again, and they rode on. Not for much further, Edith prayed.
Her head was already nodding. There had been no possibility of escape, even though the feeling had started to return to her fingers quickly, once the ropes were taken from her wrists and the blood began to flow once more.
There had been some roads that had looked possible. The way down to Coleford was one lane she knew very well, and with the low, overhanging branches, she might well have been able to lose her captor if she had been able to evade him at the outset, but he had ridden past the lane between it and her, almost as though he knew she would make an attempt, his attention fixed upon her the whole time.
She didn’t have the courage. If she’d spurred her beast, it was possible that she might have been able to escape by surprising him and yanking the rope from his hands, but the likelihood was that he’d have caught her instantly, and then all she’d have won would have been the rope about her wrists again. No, if she was going to bolt, she was going to have to do so at a moment when there was the best chance of making good her escape. The next lanes were little help. All small, uniformly straggly, difficult for him to chase after her, but also very tough for her to ride away at speed. And looking at him, she was filled with an unpleasant assurance that the fellow would ride like the devil if he saw her making good her escape. She was as likely to break her mare’s leg as he was his palfrey’s, and then no doubt she’d be forced to walk with her hands bound. No, she couldn’t risk it, not on roads she didn’t know.