Struggling with the weight of the water, she carried the sloshing bucket back to the postern gate and opened it, slipping inside with her water but leaving the gate unbolted from the inside. She did that for one very good reason– if Maxton and his men needed to enter the complex.
Andressa didn’t even turn to see if the knight had run off, as she’d told him to. She kept her attention on her area, on the three wine pitchers she could see sitting up on the table she used to lay out her dried laundry.
Setting the water aside, she checked the pitchers again, stirring the poisoned wine once more and noticing that the crushed leaves had all but dissolved, and the cheesecloth containing the mashed roots was the same color of the wine. Everything was blending quite nicely. Just as she set the stick aside and covered up the poisoned wine again, she could see Sister Petronilla heading in her direction.
Her heart began to race.
Keeping calm, she bent over the bucket of water and pretended to wash her good hand in it just as Sister Petronilla approached. She casually looked up at the woman as she dried off her hand.
“I see that the bishop has arrived,” she said before Sister Petronilla could speak. “Is the mass to begin soon?”
Sister Petronilla nodded. “The king has arrived, also,” she said. “He is moving into the chapel as we speak. Is everything prepared as we have instructed?”
Now was the moment. God help her, Andressa was feeling more nerves than she had hoped she would. She could only pray that Sister Petronilla was so preoccupied that she wouldn’t question anything at all about the wines and their differences, or check up on Andressa’s work. She turned for the three wine pitchers that were back in the shade.
“Everything is ready,” she said quietly, moving for the pitcher with the big gouge in the handle. Quickly, she pulled out the cheesecloth sachet full of leaves and petals, now stained dark with wine that disguised what they really were. “This is for the king. See the mark on the handle? This will tell you that this is the wine meant for him. Give it to no one else unless you wish to kill them.”
Fortunately, Sister Petronilla wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the pitcher Andressa was handing her. She seemed busy and distracted, perhaps feeling her nerves for this day of days as well. Whatever the case, it was working to Andressa’s advantage.
“Excellent,” she said quietly. “And you did exactly as I told you?”
Andressa nodded firmly. “Exactly, Sister. I rose before dawn to complete the task. The ingredients have been soaking in the wine for hours.”
A smile flickered on Sister Petronilla’s pale lips. “Well done, Andressa,” she said, looking her over as if pleased the beating had whipped her into acquiescence. Perhaps she could have been more suspicious of her, but she simply didn’t have the time or the will. There was too much happening at the moment. “I will ensure this is the only wine the king drinks.”
Andressa nodded. “It is a full pitcher, so it is enough for the feast afterwards, too,” she said. “I will bring your wine to the chapel myself. It tastes of spices, as you instructed, and so does the king’s wine. In fact, they should taste nearly the same, somake sure you give him the wine with the gouged handle. That is the only way you are to know for certain.”
Sister Petronilla didn’t question her further, about anything. It was clear that she believed Andressa had been properly punished and was now properly submissive. She simply took the wine with her, heading across the cloister towards the chapel entry. Andressa watched her go, still palming the rose sachet she’d pulled from the wine because she hadn’t wanted Sister Petronilla to get a good look at it. The less she saw, the better.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Andressa called over one of the kitchen nuns, instructing her to take the third wine pitcher, the one that was only mulled but not poisoned. That would be the wine for the masses. As the woman collected it and headed for the chapel to ensure the acolytes had it, Andressa turned to the remaining pitcher, the one full of poisoned wine. She looked at it a moment, feeling no doubt at all in what she was about to do.
For every pledge, postulate, and nun who had suffered The Chaos, she would do it for them.
For every terror and sin the Mother Abbess had committed or inflicted, she would seek vengeance.
For the beating she received yesterday at the hands of the wicked, she would seek a reckoning.
For the good of everyone at St. Blitha, she was about to play God.
There was no turning back.
*
Maxton had neverreally seen St. Blitha in the daylight and now that he had, it looked worse than it did at night.
It was constructed out of a mixture of beige sandstone and gray granite, an amalgam of building materials because some of the rocks had been pilfered from an old pagan temple builtby the Romans centuries ago. That meant the façade was tall, ugly, and uneven, and a growth of moss grew up from the base of it, covering the stones about halfway up with a moist, green growth.
The church itself was squat and slender, but very long, running the full length of the cloister into which it had been built. There was a big entry, double-doored, with panels that had seen better days. In all, the entire structure conveyed the same rot and deterioration that plagued the occupants inside. It looked like it belonged somewhere on the purgatory plain.
Andressa has been living in this horrible place, he thought grimly.
When they’d first arrived with the advance group of the king’s contingent, Maxton had positioned himself by the entry door to the church as the rest of the men-at-arms spread out around the entire complex, covering the walls from the outside to ensure that the king was amply protected. As Maxton remained by the doors, the king himself finally arrived and he caught sight of Sean, Kevin, Alexander, and Cullen among the king’s body guards, an elite group akin to the Praetorian Guard of old. It also gave Maxton an opportunity to study Richard the Lionheart’s brother, a man he’d not had a high opinion of for many years.
In truth, he’d seen John before, but back when he was merely a prince, known as “Lackland” by most of the nobles in England for the mere fact he literally had no lands, no possessions worth note, and coveted everything his father and older brothers had earned or inherited. Dark-haired, and dark-eyed, with one droopy eyelid, he wasn’t very tall, an oddly meek stature from a man who wielded so much power.
Maxton watched the king arrive and then shortly thereafter, so did William Marshal, Christopher and David, and Gart. The two parties mingled in the entry area outside of the church.The king greeted The Marshal amiably, deliberately ignored the de Lohr brothers because of their vast and turbulent history together, and made a point of trying to convince Gart to join his elite guard. Gart refused, so John ignored him, too.
As Maxton stood right outside the door, seemingly standing at attention as the king passed by him, he made sure to make eye contact with Christopher and David, and finally William, as they passed inside the church. He cast Gart a long look as well, watching the men file into the church for the mass to begin. Because of the king’s attendance at St. Blitha, the streets were blocked off, preventing pilgrims from reaching the church, so it was a very small and very elite crowd inside. Once the king, his courtiers, and a few honored guests disappeared inside the church, Maxton broke from his position and went on the prowl.
