Page 67 of Stay with Me

He didn’t expect the French planned to occupy Canterbury but believed they would instead wreak their destruction, possibly destroy the sacred pilgrimage site at the cathedral, as well as burn, loot, and kill—the same way they had at Rye.

“Why?” Nicholas whispered the question, unable to keep his anguish from lacing it.

Walter’s face had turned pale. He was likely thinking about Rye too. He’d lived through the attack, the burn scars covering most of his backside a constant reminder of all that had happened.

“What does Simon have to gain?” Walter asked.

Nicholas shook his head in frustration but then stopped as one possibility barreled into him. “The wellspring.”

“What wellspring?”

“The wellspring at St. Sepulchre. ’Tis believed to contain holy water that can cure any disease.”

Walter was silent a moment. “Perhaps ’tis true, sire. I have heard rumors of healings taking place in Canterbury.”

Nicholas didn’t question the power of the holy water. He’d witnessed its healing at work, but he didn’t have time now fordetailed explanations. “Simon recently failed to wrest control of the wellspring away from Lord Durham of Chesterfield Park. Now he is utilizing this invasion of the French into Canterbury as a means of securing it.” Would he request that the French attack St. Sepulchre specifically and murder everyone inside the premises?

The very idea of Simon abetting the French’s attack for so selfish a gain made Nicholas’s stomach roil. “How does he think he will get away with such treachery?”

“Have you considered why Simon is so eager to have you as his prisoner?”

Nicholas brought the spinning in his head to a standstill, calming the turmoil so that he could analyze the situation rationally.

He’d believed Simon had beaten him to gain information to give to the French, and he expected Simon to put him to death once he had what he wanted. But what if all along Simon had intended to keep Nicholas alive but weak, taking him to Canterbury on the night of the French attack and making it appear that he’d unlocked Newingate? With his reputation as a skilled archer, he would be an easy scapegoat. Simon would have no trouble making the night guards’ deaths look like they’d been overcome by someone like Nicholas. And if his dead body was found at daybreak with the keys to the gate, no one would be the wiser for Simon’s involvement with the French.

Simon needed him, especially after naming him as a spy for the French. The attack was drawing too nigh for Simon to find someone else to blame for the crime, at least not without drawing suspicion upon himself.

Nicholas squared his shoulders. All the more reason to evade Simon. If he didn’t, he would inadvertently aid Simon in destroying Canterbury.

Walter used his knife to slice off the bottom of the parchment where the numbers and the transcription were written. He held it out to Nicholas. “I will pray for you to stay out of Simon’s clutches so you can take this warning to the king.”

Nicholas folded the parchment into a small square before he slipped it into an empty sheath in his boot. “If you hear of my capture, will you please warn the king yourself?”

Walter hesitated but a moment before he nodded.

“And if anything should happen to me, find a way to tell Sybil I have loved her.” Without waiting for reassurances that would offer him little hope, Nicholas opened the door and hurried down the steps.

’Twas time to put an end to Simon’s plans, even if it cost Nicholas his life to do so.

~ 25 ~

Sybil sighted the target,then released the bow, the softtwanghaving grown familiar after practicing for hours. Her fingers were covered in blisters beneath her gloves, but Beatrice had been slathering them with the healing salve from the tin Nicholas had left behind. Much to Sybil’s amazement, the salve had taken away the sting and begun the healing process as easily as if she’d put on a topical ointment from a pharmacy.

She stood back and stretched. If only the salve could remove the other aches and pains in her body. She’d expected to have an easier time sleeping on the hard pallet on the floor of Beatrice and Ralph’s cottage, but she’d awoken every morning, including a short while ago, with sore muscles she hadn’t known existed.

From her periphery she could see Eric readying to leave for market, all the while observing her. He’d gone hunting again the past couple of days, and she’d been spared his angst. But after returning last night, he’d seemed to linger near her, watching her as though he knew she was different but couldn’t figure out how.

A young boy raced around gathering her arrows. Most were hitting the inner rings of the target now. She was getting stronger, and with a little more practice, she’d be able to use her bow and arrow well enough if there was need.

She’d asked Ralph to teach her how to shoot and ride simultaneously, but he’d told her to focus on her horsemanship first. And he was right. He’d been a strict but good teacher, helping her learn how to saddle and bridle a horse and takingher out every day into the surrounding woodland and meadows to continue her horse-riding lessons.

He only issued instructions as necessary, which meant mostly they rode in silence. But she didn’t mind, had learned to work with all sorts of men over the years, and his reticence didn’t frighten her. Rather, she’d relished the opportunity to explore the Weald, imagining the terrain in modern times. Most of the landmarks were unfamiliar, but upon crossing certain rivers or creeks the closer they drew to Canterbury, she’d catch her bearing and picture the primary school or supermarket or library.

“Want to shoot another round?” The boy came bounding toward her across the butts.

She glanced in the direction of the well where Ralph was yet helping to fix the waterwheel, which had become stuck that morning while some of the men had been drawing water for the livestock. He appeared busy and would call her over when he was ready to go.

He didn’t seem to mind being pulled away from his duties in order to teach her. And always on their return ride to the village, he’d shoot game to bring back with them, usually a hare or a bird like a grouse, partridge, or snipe.

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