That puzzled Lance greatly. “Why?”
The man shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “But she might know who I am.”
That didn’t make things any clearer. “Know who you…?” Lance paused, shaking his head. “I am certain she would not know you. Moreover, she was just married, so you cannot see her. She is with her new husband.”
The man appeared saddened and confused. “It… it would only take a moment,” he said. “Or mayhap Lord Eckington would know me.”
Lance was growing impatient. “You have not given me a good explanation as to why I should allow you to see either one of them,” he said. “You came here because you think they may know you? That is ridiculous. You must leave.”
He grabbed Al by the arm again and began dragging him toward the gatehouse. But the man dug his heels in, pleading.
“Please,” he begged. “Please, my lord, will you ask her for me? I do not need to see her if she does not wish to see me, but can you ask her something for me? Show her something for me?”
Lance paused, eyeing him with annoyance. “Show her what?”
The man dug into his layers of cloaks, wafting them around as he did so. That smell of mildew came at Lance again and he had to turn his head away, trying to get some fresh air. But the man finally found what he was looking for and held it out to Lance.
“This,” he said. “I was wearing it when I was injured. You can see the shadow of it seared into my hand. When my memory started returning, the name of Eckington came to me. I was told it was a castle in Herefordshire, so I came here. Read the back of the pendant.”
Lance looked at it. It was a gold cross, a few inches long, and the front of the cross had red semiprecious stones on it. A few were missing. Turning it over, he read the carefully carved inscription—
Allez avec Dieu.
Go with God.
“So you have a pendant,” Lance said dubiously. “What does this have to do with Lady de Barenton?”
Al pointed to the cross. “Because that is gold,” he said. “Only someone of wealth could have given me that. A mother. A wife. Even a father. I hope that Lord Eckington or his daughter might recognize it and tell me who gave it to me.”
“And that is why you seek them?”
“Aye, my lord,” Al said. Then he hesitated before continuing. “Might you tell me Lord Eckington’s daughter’s name?”
“Lady de Barenton,” Lance said. “Does that sound familiar?”
Al thought very hard. “Nay,” he finally said. “May I know her first name?”
“Catalina.”
That didn’t sound familiar to him, because he’d never known the name of Alfred’s wife, but it was clear he wasn’t ready to give up. “Please,” he said again. “Will you show her this? Will you please ask her if it is familiar to her?”
Lance had to admit that he felt rather sorry for the man. There was something quite pathetic about him. He didn’t sound mad, and he didn’t seem dangerous, so perhaps he reallywashere on a fact-finding mission. Lance looked at the cross again.
“You were over at the tournament field today,” he said. “I saw you.”
Al nodded. “I was, my lord,” he said. “I was hoping to be directed to Lord Eckington, but everyone was very busy. I could not find anyone to help me. At least, not anyone who was not afraid of me and my appearance.”
Lance grunted. “Understandable,” he said. “Your accident must have been very bad, indeed.”
“A fire aboard a ship.”
Lance’s eyebrows lifted. “How long ago?”
“Two years, my lord.”
Around the same time Lady de Barenton’s husband died. That popped into Lance’s head. He didn’t know why, but now this man, and the cross, were making him suspicious. He remembered that Harald told him that Lady de Barenton’s husband had been killed in France. Or Flanders. Somewhere over there.
So did this burned man have some connection to that?
