The Innocent by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online Page B

departure tomorrow."
    "Thank you, lady," Ranulf de Glandeville answered her. "You are kind, and I am grateful for your hospitality." He sat, observing those of consequence in the hall. Another man who was familiar. The lord’s beautiful wife and his equally beautiful sister. By her simple gray garb he recognized the sister as a religious. Her long pale red-gold braid, however, told him she had not yet taken her final vows. The heart-shaped face was sweet, and he thought it a shame that her calling was to God and not a husband. His thoughts were interrupted by the other man who was approaching him.
    "I am Sir Saer de Bude. We have fought together for the king," the man said. "The lady of this manor is my cousin. I have been here this past year aiding her husband, who is ill to death as you surely see."
    Ranulf de Glandeville stood, and held out his hand. "I thought you familiar, Sir Saer," he replied. The man was officious and tactless. He almost behaved as if he were lord here, and not Richard de Montfort.
    "Wine!" Saer de Bude called loudly. "Why have we no wine?" He swaggered with a proprietorial air toward the high board. "Come, sir, and join me. The servants will bring your food quickly."
    Not knowing the situation, and not wishing to appear rude, the king’s messenger sat himself at the high board. The fair lady Eleanore herself set down a plate laden with food and a fresh trencher of bread. There were slices of well-hung venison, a generous spoonful of rabbit stew, several juicy prawns, a thick slice of ham, an artichoke, and a wedge of cheese. With a small smile she handed him a polished wooden spoon. He flushed beneath his ruddy wind-tanned cheeks, realizing his appetite had been showing. Crossing himself, he bowed his head a long moment, then crossing himself again, he began to eat. When he had mopped the last bit of gravy from his pewter plate with the last scrap of bread, and swallowed a final gulp from his cup, he sat back with a grin of contentment.
    "Lady, you set a fine table," he said appreciatively.
    "This is my brother’s house," Elf said modestly.
    "You have, I would imagine, returned home from your convent to help," Ranulf de Glandeville observed. "Have you been able to aid your brother, lady? Is there anything I can do to aid you?"
    "Dickon will die," Elf said, voicing for the first time what she had all along known in her heart. This knight had kind eyes, and for a brief moment she didn't feel quite so alone. "I am the assistant to our herbalist and infirmarian. It is said I am skilled in these arts, but just when I think I am making progress, my brother has a relapse. It has happened thrice now in the few weeks I have been back at Ashlin. If I cannot overcome the mystery of whatever it is that plagues him, I cannot make him well, sir. It is but a matter of time, and he will indeed surely die." There were tears in her gray-blue eyes as she spoke.
    "You cannot determine what ails him?" the knight probed gently.
    "It is a complaint of the belly first and foremost," Elf told her companion. "Pains, sometimes so severe his body folds itself in half. A continuous flux in the bowels. He has lost most of his hair, and a good many of his teeth. His skin is sallow, and tinged with gray. He is but ten years my senior, but he appears an ancient man now. All I can do," she concluded, "is keep him comfortable, sir. I feel so terribly helpless that I cannot make him well again."
    "Was he always of a weakened disposition?" Ranulf de Glandeville asked Elf. Sometimes this was unfortunately so.
    "Oh, no!" Elf replied. "Until about a year ago, according to old Ida, who was our nursemaid, Dickon was in the best of health." Then the young girl blushed. "I have almost forgotten, sir. My brother wanted me to ask you if you will come and speak with him before you retire. I have had a comfortable place made up for you in the bed space next to the fire. You will be quite snug there."
    He arose from the high board, giving her a