Victor thought on the men, more than likely nameless peasants, who had returned Roger to the earl for the money they knew it would bring them. Perhaps they did not even see what had happened. Perhaps they knew nothing at all. But Victor could not accept that; someone had to see something. If Roger was killed in a tavern, then surely there were people around to witness it. He wanted answers and he wanted satisfaction, and his thoughts turned in the direction of achieving such things. He knew of a man who could discover what had happened and punish those responsible. Victor began to feel hope.
“Roger’s death shall be avenged, William,” he said, steadier now. “My cousin has gifted me with the greatest assassin the world has ever seen. He has only just returned from the Levant and now he is now sworn to me. I will have this man track down Roger’s killers and punish them, I swear it.”
William looked at him, his face swollen and his eyes red from weeping. “Who is this man?”
Victor looked at him with great confidence. “They call him the Scorpion,” he said with confidence. “He will avenge Roger’s death, William. Have no doubt. He will be here soon and we will speak to him about such things.”
William was interested, at least as much as he could be under the circumstances. “Is this so?” he said. “The king has gifted you with such a man?”
Victor nodded. “It was part of a bargain he struck with me.”
William was curious. “What bargain?”
William was a friend so Victor was comfortable divulging the information. “My cousin wished for me to marry,” he said. “He wanted me to wed a Welsh princess and promised to gift me with a reputable knight if I did, so I agreed.”
“The Scorpion?”
“Aye.”
William lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise. “You are not the marrying kind, Victor.”
There was much more to that statement than met the eye; Victor could sense it. After what William had said earlier, he suspected what the man meant.
“Mayhap that is true,” he mumbled. “But I have a wife nonetheless. You will meet her, as she will be arriving when the Scorpion does. They are traveling together.”
William’s brow furrowed. “Most peculiar, Victor,” he said. “Why are they traveling together?”
Because I told Hage to bed the woman and clothe her, Victor thought.Because I did not want to be bothered with her.But he would not go so far as to tell William that because he suspected that his friend would not approve. Most moral men wouldn’t. Instead, Victor smiled weakly.
“Errands for the new duchess,” he said vaguely. Swiftly, he shifted the subject back to his need to avenge Roger’s death. It was the most important thing on his mind, certainly more important than discussing his useless wife. “Rest assured, William. We will have Hage seek out those who killed Roger and punish them. His death will not go unanswered, I promise you.”
“Hage?”
“The Scorpion,” Victor clarified. “The man’s name is Sir Kevin Hage. His father served William de Wolfe many years ago. Surely you know of de Wolfe.”
William lifted his eyebrows, a weary gesture. “Everyone knows of de Wolfe,” he said. Then, his red eyes began to swim with tears again as his thoughts turned back to his son and heir now lying cold and stiff in a nearby tent. “Thank you, Victor. For discovering who did this… I thank you.”
His eyes spilled over again and he lowered his head, wiping away tears. Victor’s gaze lingered on the man a moment, feeling his pain right along with him, but for Victor, it was a different pain. The pain of losing someone he loved very much, someone he had touched and tasted. Roger had meant a good deal to him, but now that was over. Victor still couldn’t believe it. His heart hurt in more ways than he could comprehend.
But Hage would ease that ache. The man had a formidable reputation according to the king and Victor would trust that the reputation was just as ruthless as Edward had said it was because, surely, he was about to put that reputation to the test. He would send Hage to Dover to discover what he could about Roger’s death and when the culprits were found, Hage would have orders to destroy them. Nothing less than pure destruction.
Whoever killed Roger Longespee, Viscount Twyford, would have to pay.
*
It was calledSamhain, orSah-heen,and it was the festival when dead souls walked the earth. At least, that was what one of the happy villagers told Kevin as he and Annavieve emerged from the church and ran headlong into a party in the street. It was dark outside, the sun having long set upon the western horizon, and the festival to honor the souls of the dead was in full swing.
As the seamstresses remained in the church sewing on the vast wardrobe that now belonged to the Duchess of Dorset, Annavieve stood, wide-eyed, on the steps of the church and watched the frolicking villagers. Most had masks on their faces made with thatch or fabric, or some kind of root vegetables and twine, and most of those masks were falling off as people danced to a man who had a hollowed-out piece of wood carved into a flute. Someone else was beating on a drum. It was actually quite festive but Annavieve had never seen anything like it. As she stood there in awe, Father Innocente wandered out of the church and stood behind her.
“Fools,” he muttered as he watched the cavorting. “Silly, mindless children.”
Annavieve turned to him. “Why would you say that?” she asked, returning her curious focus to the crowd. “What are they celebrating?”
Father Innocente came to stand next to her, viewing the party below. The sky was dark but lanterns were lit, or oil lamps, or anything else that would burn. Someone had started a big pyre near the well in the town square and it spit smoke and sparks into the night sky. People romped happily around it. Light and happiness were everywhere.
“It is All Hallows Eve, my lady,” he replied. “They are celebrating the souls of the dead.”
Annavieve watched the flute player as he danced by with an entire line of happy party-goers in tow. “You sound as if you do not approve.”
