Page 46 of Beguiled
“Yes, I know where Prince Vilmar is from,” Mikkel said irritably. “Why did he set the slaves free from the mine pits?”
These were former slaves? I assessed the leader and then the other men, whom Gregor had now bound. From their skeletal condition and sallow skin, I had no doubt they’d been imprisoned. But the one time I’d gone with my mother and her priests for the prayer ceremony at the mine pits, the slaves hadn’t been this depraved. Though I’d been appalled to learn many slaves lost limbs due to accidents and rat bites, I’d also been struck by how normal most of them looked, like ordinary people, not common criminals. Not like these men.
When I’d questioned one of the priests, he’d explained the slaves were made up of criminals convicted of lesser offenses. The worst prisoners—the most violent and vilest—were condemned to the dungeons and eventually put to death.
Perhaps over the year I’d been gone, the queen had grown more desperate for slaves to labor in her mine and decided to send even the worst the criminals there too. If so, at least one of them would likely have lost a limb. And as far as I could tell, their arms and legs were intact.
“Tell me what you know of Prince Vilmar.” Mikkel shifted the spear blade to a new spot on his prisoner’s arm.
“He’s wanted by the queen,” the prisoner cried out, “for leading a revolt at the mine pits.”
Mikkel glared down at the man.
I studied the prisoners again. Something wasn’t right. “You cannot trust what these criminals tell you.”
“I’m telling the truth! The queen has put a bounty on Prince Vilmar’s head. He’s wanted dead or alive.”
The peasant man who’d gone to his wife and children now stepped forward. “We don’t know what be truth anymore.”
“I give you leave to speak of what you’ve heard.” Mikkel gave the peasant man a cursory glance but kept his focus on his prisoner as Gregor began to bind him.
“No one knows why the prince was workin’ as a slave in the mine,” the peasant said. “But he released the prisoners and came to Kensington on Midsummer’s Eve.”
“He captured Grendel,” the woman said, awe tinting her voice.
A tremor ran up my spine at the very thought that the monster was gone along with the yearly sacrifice of the fairest maiden. “Truly?”
The woman nodded eagerly. “The prince locked Grendel in a cage and sent him away from Warwick.”
“To Scania?” Mikkel asked.
“Aye. Under heavy guard.”
I whispered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. I didn’t know how or why Vilmar had accomplished so great a feat, but already I liked him. After the years of terror Grendel had unleashed in Warwick, Vilmar should have become a national hero. Not a man wanted dead or alive.
As though coming to the same conclusion, Mikkel’s brows came together in a deep scowl. “Why would the queen punish Prince Vilmar for eliminating this monster?”
The prisoner snorted. “I already told you. He released the slaves from the mine pits.”
The peasant man wrapped an arm around his children. “And now the criminals be runnin’ through the land plunderin’ and destroyin’.”
“We lost our home already.” The woman clung to her husband, her expression desperate. “And these men would take the little we have left.”
Mikkel stood rigidly. “Has the queen not sent her knights to restore order?”
“We haven’t seen nary a one since Midsummer’s Eve.”
That was at least six weeks ago, if my calculations were correct.
Mikkel’s eyes teemed with questions, likely the same questions I had, ones I couldn’t begin to answer.
“Did Prince Vilmar return to the mine pits?” Mikkel asked.
“No one knows where he is.” The prisoner released a sneering laugh. “If we did, we sure wouldn’t tell you and let you collect the reward.”
Mikkel studied the prisoner a moment. “Tell me, why would Prince Vilmar risk his life to save this land from Grendel’s ravages only to free criminals to roam around and ravage in the monster’s stead?”
The firelight reflected off the prisoner’s face, revealing a smirk.
