Page 15 of The Knight's Pledge
Effie urged her horse forward once more without further comment. Gorman and Montague matched her pace.
They entered the city proper at Bishopsgate. Effie’s heart pounded in her chest at the press of people, animal, and conveyance, at the noise and the smell. She had never imagined any place could be like this, and she wondered how frightenedGeorge must be.
They wound their way through the crowd, through people from all levels of society, it appeared. There were old women wearing little more than rags, bent nearly double with bound parcels strapped to their backs; the nearer they came to the center of the city, fine ladies and gentlemen in long, rich robes, their servants surrounding them and clearing the way. Merchants at stalls strung with carcasses or dried foodstuffs, cloth and rugs and pottery. It was colder here between the buildings, as if the hulking city shunned the very ideas of light and warmth. Everywhere was noise and the smell of rot and old soot. They seemed to be heading directly toward the river.
“Where are we going?” she asked at last, not liking the hesitant sound of her voice, but feeling uncharacteristically unsure of herself in this foreign environment.
“The Strand, first,” he said easily. “I’ve a friend with a house there at my disposal.”
“But we must see the king right away,” Effie protested to his back, and it was not lost on her that Lucan Montague was in his element here, and it showed inhis demeanor.
“Not looking like this, we mustn’t,” he said over his shoulder. “We’ve been traveling for a fortnight and smell it, I’m sure. Look it, I know. We’d not make it as far as the courtyard in this condition, I’m afraid.”
“Lucan, they have my son,” Effie argued. “They must let me in.”
“You don’t yet know whether they have your son or not,” he replied smoothly. “Besides, we must have a place for Chumley to safely sleep it off and Winnie and Gilboe to stay. Unless the good friar has a desire to visit the Bishop?” He craned his head further to look pointedly at the man, whose face was now hidden byhis deep hood.
Gilboe cleared his throat within the shadow. “Ah, I think not.”
Effie hated the knight’s smug expression as he turned back around. He thought himself so smart.
“I do doubt any of you wish to spend the coin required to put yourselves up in a reputable inn. A cheap one would see you departing in your own corpse wagon. Unless it was first stolen and sold before they killed you. Which is actuallyquite likely.”
“Lucan—” she began again.
But Gorman reached across with his open hand. Effie took it. He squeezed her fingers.
“He’s right.” Gorman released her as he was forced to maneuver his horse around to let a tall, top-heavy merchant cart bumble through the crowd. The horses sidestepped and tossed their heads. A moment later, he looked at her as they continued on. “Sir Lucan knows London. Isn’t that why he’s with us? We haveto trust him.”
Effie pressed her lips together but raised no further arguments.
They turned right at last, onto a street that held nothing of the crowds they’d just accomplished—no merchants lined this thoroughfare, only the figures of servants and soldiers and horses. Children played here—both the well-dressed and those of obviously lesser means. Between the shoulders of the stately dwellings, so unlike the timbered structures they’d passed through, Effie caught glimpses of boats and could smell the river. The road was no better though, marked with so many pits and ditches that Effie had to keep alert. They stopped before a white stone, three-story dwelling, and a servant appeared at once from the arches of a gate house.
“Sir Lucan,” the man said, snapping his fingers to the side. A pair of boys came running from around the edge of the arch, their caps askew, their bare feet bluish through the grime. “It is a pleasure tosee you again.”
“Stephen.” Montague swung down from his horse. “I’ve just come from Darlyrede House, which has suffered a great tragedy. Her steward and some of the other servants accompany me. We hope to see the king on the morrow. Lady Margaret hasn’t returned yet, has she?” He handed Agrios’s reins to the older boy. “He’s tired lad.”
“Aye, Sir Lucan,” the stable boy acknowledged.
“No, lord, she is yet in Greece, as you likely suspected. She will be disappointed to have missed you. I’ll see that the servants are shown appropriate quarters, with your steward’s assistance.”
Lucan and the well-dressed servant looked to Rolf expectantly, and Effie felt her teethgrit together.
“Rolf?”
“Ofcourse, lord.”
The knight nodded. “Very good. I shall call for you in the morning, when I am ready to depart. Good night.”
Then Lucan Montague turned and limped up the walkway to the painted wooden door, where a footman waited. He threw the door wide well before the man’s actual arrival on the threshold, and Lucan disappeared inside the house, leaving the rest of themin the street.
Effie felt like her heart would burn out of her chest as she swung down from her horse. How dare he abandon them all like rubbish?
Gorman hefted Chumley from the wagon and carried him over his shoulder as the six of them followed the prissy steward along the down-sloping pathway beneath the arch. By the time they reached the rear, more young boys were leading their horses and one was driving the cart up the wharf alley and into a damp stable yard. They ducked into an open doorway in the house’s stone foundation.
It was a kitchen, low-ceilinged and furnished smartly with workbenches and shelves along one long wall. The opposite of the room was comprised of a large, open hearth; a small fire was banked, the spits and pot-arms empty. Stephen led them through this room and into a narrow passage where the stones were whitewashed. He stopped beside a planked door, painted with the same finishas the stones.
“The majority of the house servants are abroad with my lady. You may have use of their chambers.” He nodded toward Effie. “This one shall be yours. There is warm water in the cistern in the kitchen. The servants’ privvy is across the alley. Cook will fetch you to help prepare the meal.”
