Page 87 of Never Leave Me
Harrison didn’t realize he’d dozed until a shout awoke him. “Ickham’s drawing nigh!”
The soldiers Will had assigned to guard the well straightened and drew their weapons. They would stay behind to protect the well, along with the locksmith, who seemed to be finishing his repairs. But Will was already jogging through the woods toward the priory yard.
Guessing he’d slept over an hour, if not longer, Harrison scrambled to his feet. He hastened after the others, his pulse drumming a rhythm of dread. They’d expected retaliation along with more fighting. But after the first skirmish, Harrison wasn’t sure he could stomach more killing.
As Will’s men congregated at the front gate, they made themselves ready for battle. Arthur was nowhere in sight, no doubt still inside with Sister Christina. As for himself, though Harrison didn’t want to have another confrontation, he could do nothing less than fight alongside Will since this was his battle too. He drew up his mail hood and unsheathed his sword, wishing for another stiff tree limb instead.
Will was the first to leave the priory, his expression calm, his mouth set with determination. Even as Harrison’s admiration of Will grew, he couldn’t keep from feeling sorry for him—that his way of life in the Middle Ages was so full of fighting and bloodshed. Marian had only spoken briefly of Will’s tortured soul, but it had been enough to realize that Will was a peace-loving man and didn’t relish taking lives.
The gate swung wider, and Harrison moved with Will’s men outside onto the street. When they’d sneaked into town last night, darkness had obscured all but the outline of the homes and businesses. But now by daylight, Canterbury was in full view.
The first thing Harrison noticed was the pointed roof, flying buttresses, and lofty spires of Canterbury Cathedral towering over everything else. The cathedral was a work of art unto itself in the present day, but even more so in 1382, especially in contrast to the other buildings around it.
The traders’ shops lining both sides of the narrow street were crammed closely together, the projecting signs with pictures revealing the trade inside. The painted bread loaf indicated the baker, the bushel on a pole signaled the alehouse, the iron scissors depicted the tailor.
The collapsed beams of several structures attested to the destruction of the earthquake. But the damage hadn’t stopped the businesses from opening their countertops and selling their wares. A fish market stood closest to the priory with racks of herring and mackerel drying in the sun. Only a short distance away was a butcher shop with carcasses and joints hanging from hooks in the shade while other slabs of red meat sat on the counter in the sun, swarms of flies hovering everywhere.
The scent of dung and sewage lingered in the morning air. And the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer was the only sound in the eerily silent street. Ponies and packhorses were halted. A rural laborer steering a cart laden with eggs, milk, and cheese had frozen still. A boy shoveling up droppings from the street didn’t budge.
Most traders had moved away from their displays and now stood within the confines of their doorways, wariness on their faces as they stared between Will and another imposing man waiting a short distance down the street, several armed men on either side of him. He wore a black surcoat and long matching cap, contrasting his pale, almost translucent, skin.
“Lord Durham,” the newcomer said, “I have to say, you took us quite by surprise. I must compliment you on your successful infiltration even if it is short-lived.”
Will spread his feet, his arms stiff, his grip tight around his sword. “I intend to protect the holy water from abuse by those who wish to profit from it.”
This had to be Ickham. The bailiff’s smile was brittle. “The kinghas appointed me the guardian of his lands in Kent. St. Sepulchre falls under my jurisdiction.”
“The well belongs to my jurisdiction since I am the one who made the discovery.”
Ickham motioned at one of his soldiers, who pushed a man out from behind them. A big-boned fellow with thick gray hair standing on end stumbled and fell to his knees. His mouth was gagged with a rag, his hands bound behind him.
Harrison’s heart slammed into his ribs. Arthur.
22
HOWHADICKHAMCAPTUREDARTHUR?
With a racing pulse, Harrison strode forward, only one thought pounding through him. He had to get Arthur back. If he didn’t, Ellen and Marian would be devastated.
Will stepped into his path and nodded at his men, somehow communicating to them so that they lunged forward, grabbing Harrison and restraining him.
His panic mounted, and he struggled in vain to free himself. “Let Arthur go!”
Ickham gave Harrison a once-over, his lip curling up disdainfully. “My men located this man sneaking around the crypt of the cathedral.”
In the crypt? Across the distance, Harrison met Arthur’s gaze. Had Arthur backtracked through the tunnel without them? Why?
“Unhand my wife’s father at once.” Will’s tone was low and dangerous.
The guards surrounding Ickham unsheathed their swords as though preparing for a battle. But Ickham didn’t move, not even to blink.
Will repositioned his sword. “You have no reason to keep him, as he has nothing to do with our rivalry over the well.”
The bailiff tossed a glance toward a nearby business. A burly man cloaked in chain mail exited with several armed knights close on his heels. Of course it was Lord Worth with his swarthy skin, black brows, and forked black beard.
As he stepped onto the street, he glared first at Will, then Harrison, his dark eyes filled with malice.
Harrison hadn’t spoken with Lord Worth yesterday during the meeting with the archbishop. Will had requested that Harrison stay back with his squires while he attended to matters. Nevertheless, Lord Worth’s anger had been as visible then as it was today.
