“St. Blitha belongs to Essex, doesn’t it?” Achilles spoke up. Surprisingly, he was the most pious of the Executioner Knights, and often wrestled with that faith when carrying out his dark missions. “It is part of the Bishopric of Essex, and I am sorry to say that it is well-known that Essex is a man of questionable honor.”
“Exactly.” Maxton pointed a finger at him to emphasize his point. “He also has questionable morals. Remember the nun that was executed in Chelmsford the year we left for The Levant? She told everyone she was pregnant by Essex and was executed for her blasphemy.”
William pinched the bridge of his nose as if struggling with the dark and dirty deeds from people who were supposed to uphold the morality of the church. He’d had his own troubles with them, which made the story Maxton was telling more than believable in his mind.
“I remember,” he muttered. “I’d also heard through reliable sources that it wasn’t the first bastard of the Bishop of Essex. It was simply the one that became public knowledge.”
Maxton shook his head. “Given that quagmire of sex and lies, I tend to believe the pledge,” he said grimly. “She lives behind walls that hide that hell from the world. But more than that, remember that St. Blitha’s was the abbey that Sherry tracked Douglas to. He knows that Douglas spent some time there for an unknown reason.”
William nodded, remembering what he’d been told of the entire situation with Alexander and Alasdair Baird Douglas. He’d also been told of the ensuing conversation in the tavern when Maxton, Kress, and Achilles plied the man with drink and tried to interrogate him, a conversation that still had his head swimming. So much of it was leading, with very little answers. He felt as if they were no better off than they were before.
“We need to find out why Douglas was there,” he said. “If the man is our assassin, then we must find out all he knows. Your conversation with him in the tavern has brought us more questions than answers, unfortunately.”
Maxton leaned against the wall behind him, lost in thought. It was a conversation he’d been stewing over since it happened. “When we spoke to Douglas earlier, he said something thatcaught my attention,” he said. “He said that our prayers will be answered and we shall have a new king, so clearly, he knows about the assassination order. That was increasingly evident as we spoke.”
“But he also said that no man will answer our prayers,” Achilles put in. “He was very clear about nomananswering our prayers.”
Maxton looked at him, his eyebrows lifted. “So we shall have divine intervention?” he asked. “A saint is supposed to answer our prayers for the death of a king?”
“Hewasat St. Blitha,” Alexander entered into the conversation. When the men looked at him curiously, he continued. “I know, I said I was staying with Douglas. But the man is still unconscious and I felt the need to help. I have a guard watching him for now. You just finished telling us of the terrible darkness of the abbey, of a Mother Abbess who murders and pledges who starve. Mayhap Douglas went to St. Blitha to pray for a successful assassination, knowing of the evil of those who control St. Blitha. Think of it; the Holy Father has a devout servant in the Bishop of Essex, and Essex controls St. Blitha. There must be a connection there that we are not seeing.”
Maxton held up a finger as a thought formed. “Or…” he said, paused, and started again. “Or, given the fact that the Mother Abbess is a murderer, mayhap he sought her advice on how to proceed. Mayhap, she is part of the assassination plot, too.”
“Or mayhap sheisthe assassin,” Achilles said quietly. “Douglas said that nomanwould answer our prayers. The Mother Abbess is not a man.”
Maxton’s eyes widened as the logic of that statement made complete and utter sense. “The nun,” he hissed. “And John is due to St. Blitha in two days.”
The hammer had fallen. Now, the pieces of the puzzle were falling in line and the astonishment was clear on their faces. Anassassin nun? It seemed far too outlandish but, given the clues, it made sense.
No man shall answer yer prayers, Douglas had said.
But a woman could.
“God’s Bones,” William hissed. “Is it true? Do we have to protect John from a nun?”
No one had a definitive answer for him because they were all swept up in the shocking possibilities. As Maxton opened his mouth to speak, a guard from the manor gate appeared on the stairs, distracting them.
“My lord?”
William responded. “What is it?”
The guard shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “I meant Sir Maxton.”
Maxton looked over his shoulder. “What do you want?”
The guard gestured with a thumb down the stairs. “There is someone asking for you at the gatehouse,” he said. “He says he’s from The King’s Gout. He wants to talk to you.”
Maxton didn’t react for a moment, but then his eyes opened wide and he flew down the stairs without another word. As the guard ran after him, William, Kress, Achilles, and Alexander looked to each other with some concern.
“The King’s Gout?” Kress repeated. “That’s the tavern over by the Street of the Bakers, isn’t it?”
Alexander’s brow furrowed, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Didn’t Max say that the pledge this morning was stealing bread?”
The light went on in Kress’ eyes. “And then he fed the woman a meal. It must have been at the nearest tavern.”
“The King’s Gout,” they all said in unison.
Soon, they were all moving down the stairs, thinking there must be a connection between The King’s Gout and the pledge from St. Blitha. So many pieces to a puzzle that was pullingtogether, but all of them were thinking the same thing– there had to be a connection between the pledge and the tavern, and now someone from the tavern had come to give Maxton a message.
