Chapter 11 Stefano
STEFANO
Isat at the head of a roughly carved, pock-marked wooden table, surrounded by the leaders of the rebellion. John Little and Will Scarlet leaned over my shoulder, watching as I sketched a basic map of the castle’s interior.
“And this is the dungeon, it would be best to enter here. From what I saw, there are usually only two guards on duty.” I pointed to another section of my drawing.
“Here is where the prince’s rooms are. This is where he keeps his jewels and gold.
It will be difficult, but worth the effort if we can get in here. ”
On my arrival at the Burrow, I’d told the rebel leaders that I had been a guard working at the castle, but after only a few days on the job there had been some unfounded accusation against me and I’d been forced to flee.
When they’d pressed me on it, I’d said that some coin had gone missing, and I had suspected my supervisor of taking it, but when I’d raised the issue it had become my word against his, and he had claimed I was the thief.
Rather than be thrown in the dungeons or lose my hand to the chopping block, I had made a run for it and decided joining the rebels was my best option.
I’d worked on that story for ages, and watching them swallow it hook, line and sinker had given me a rush of pride.
Then John had explained they were planning to break into the castle and steal enough gold to help all of the struggling villagers, and they needed someone with inside knowledge to show them where to go.
So, I was invited to the next meeting to draw a map of the castle layout and help them to plan their attack.
These rebels were far too trusting. But, fortunately for them, I wasn’t here to interrupt a rebellion. I was only here for Morgaine.
“What about the princess’s room? Won’t she have valuables worth stealing?” Will asked.
“She’s not a princess,” John replied. “She’s just a lady.”
I bristled. “No, her jewels are also kept in the prince’s rooms in a vault and taken out each time she wears them. There’s no point entering her tower, it would only risk your capture for no reward.”
I wasn’t sure what made me say it; in truth I had no idea where Lady Gwyn-Marie's jewels were stored, or whether she had anything of value in her rooms. But I wanted to protect her. She was an innocent in all of this, she didn’t deserve to be put in danger just because her father and grandfather had made the people of the Royal Forests so impoverished with their wartime tax rises.
If anything, bad weather was the true enemy of the English people.
Hard winters followed by wet summers had killed most of the crops, starved the livestock, and left farmers and landowners with nothing to show for their hard work.
Or so I had been told. It had been a similar story in Sicily in recent years, but our warmer climate had saved us from devastation, unlike the people of Sherwood.
After the meeting, I took my lunch in the great hall.
I sat down to eat the eggs and potato cakes Agatha served, instinctively sitting across from Morgaine, who studiously ignored me as she picked at her own meal.
Once the other rebels had vacated the table and we were alone, she finally glanced my way.
“What have they got you doing?”
I shrugged, nonchalant. “Drawing a map of the castle so they know where to break in and steal the prince’s gold.”
Her brows shot up. “They know you’re—”
“No, no,” I said, quickly. “I told them I was just a guard. What are you doing?”
Her expression soured. “Washing clothes.”
“Is such domestic work beneath you, Morgaine?”
She hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
I chuckled, and her eyes flickered, softening with surprise at the sound.
“Why are you helping them?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
She laid down her spoon and considered me for a moment.
“They’re your enemies. These people are working against you from the shadows.
Their whole aim is to destroy the place you’re planning to return to; to dethrone the prince and bring down the institution that gives you power and wealth and status. Why would you help them?”
I held her gaze. I didn’t care what she thought of me; she could handle the truth.
I leaned closer and dropped my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Because if the rebels attack and the royals are weakened, it will be easier to seize control. If Prince John is hurt or killed, I will have all the power.”
I sat back and ate a bite of potato cake while she watched me, a line forming between her slender brows. I couldn’t help the prickle of heat at the back of my neck as her eyes lingered on my mouth.
She glanced around before leaning over the table and asking, “Aren’t you worried someone will recognise you as being a rebel or a sympathiser, when the bond is broken and you return to your position as sheriff?”
I shook my head. “Even if anyone does recognise me, I’ll just say I went undercover inside the organisation to destroy it from within.”
She shook her head. “You are diabolical.”
I winked at her. “As are you, Enchantress.”
We finished our meals in silence, my mind running through old memories from back home.
Growing up in a noble household, I hadn’t been short of anything.
Except, perhaps, true friendship. My plate had always been piled high and I’d had every opportunity afforded to me; every book, instrument and item of clothing I had desired.
But not everyone in our town had been so fortunate.
My mother had been a good, charitable woman, and some of her goodness had to have rubbed off on me. Didn’t it?
I might not want to admit it to Morgaine, but I did support the rebels in their plight.
Even if I was a large part of the machine that kept the poor villagers poor.
If I could achieve both aims at once, to strip Prince John of his power and to help the rebels feed the villagers, then I would gladly do so.
Millie appeared at the side of our table just as we were both clearing our plates. “Eleanor, I have need of your assistance.”
I quirked an eyebrow at Morgaine. What was this about? It all sounded very secretive. Had she told them she was a witch? She nodded discreetly, getting up to follow Millie.
I decided to go too; aside from the map drawing, no chores had been assigned to me yet, so I was at a loose end. Learning more of the layout of the Burrow might come in handy later, if I had to make a quick escape. Or if me and my men returned here to arrest the rebels and torch the place.
“It’s Arthur,” Millie said over her shoulder. Morgaine faltered, almost stumbling, and for a moment I thought she wouldn’t continue. Then she seemed to shake herself and carry on as if nothing had happened.
“What is it?”
Millie paused outside a door, a grave look on her face.
“He was injured in the last mission, a flaming arrow to the abdomen. We managed to get it out, but the wound appears to be festering. The thing is,” her expression turned almost sheepish, “when you were found, you had medicinal herbs in your pockets, and we hoped you might be a healer of some sort.” She wrung her hands together in front of her apron.
Morgaine’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s right, I make salves and poultices and sell them at the market.”
Millie’s relief was palpable. She met my eyes then, and it was as though she’d just noticed me. “Oh, Dante. Do you need something? This is the Infirmary.” Her brows pinched in concern. “Are you sick?”
Morgaine turned to look at me and her expression couldn’t have been more disdainful. She probably assumed I wanted to keep an eye on her, in case she tried to escape or rat me out.
I painted on my most charming smile. “No, I just wanted to offer my assistance. My bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, but I can pass Eleanor things or hold Arthur down, if needed.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Morgaine said. Then to Millie, “Show me to the patient.”
The first thing that hit me as we stepped inside the treatment room was the smell.
A sickly-sweet odour combined with the scent of unwashed bodies.
The man on the bed was advanced in years, possibly in his sixth decade.
He was shirtless and glistening with sweat, most of his torso was covered by dirty bandages.
“Arthur, this is Eleanor and Dante. They’ve come to clean your wound and change your bandages, alright. Behave yourself, OK?” She patted his leg and he yelped dramatically as though she’d injured him. She just laughed and rolled her eyes.
“They’ll get no trouble from me, Millie. I’m on my best behaviour.” He feigned a salute as he watched her go, leaving us to our work.
“Hold that bucket,” Morgaine told me, and she began to strip the old bandages away, dumping them into the bucket. The smell of putrefaction reached my nostrils as the bucket filled up, and gradually I came to see why. The large wound to the man’s stomach was red and inflamed, weeping pus.
“You’re a pretty one,” Arthur said, and I suppressed a grin. “Isn’t she a pretty thing?” He directed this at me, and I caught the flash of annoyance on Morgaine’s face before she schooled her features.
She leaned down for a closer look at Arthur’s wound, then began to riffle through the selection of dried leaves and bark the rebels kept in jars.
She chose a piece of liquorice root. “Here, chew on this.” Then she took a wad of fabric and soaked it in an astringent smelling liquid from a bottle, before dabbing at the burnt skin and making Arthur yell.
“This will hurt, but it’s the only way to clean out the corruption.” Turning to me, she asked, “Can you see if they have any honey?”
I turned to a shelf with a row of bottles containing different coloured fluids. Taking an amber jar of thick, syrupy liquid, I uncorked the bottle and gave it a sniff. Sweet and floral. “Here,” I said, handing it to Morgaine, who began to generously spread the honey across Arthur’s wound.
“Help him to sit up please.” She took a roll of linen and began to wrap the fresh bandages around Arthur’s torso as I held him propped in a sitting position.
“Not much of a talker, is she?” He whispered in my ear, loud enough for Morgaine to hear.
I chuckled, but watching her work I felt conflicted.
Why didn’t she use her magic to heal the old man?
These were simple, common remedies—done with a practiced hand, true, but there was nothing mystical about the treatment Morgaine administered to Arthur.
Was she holding back because I was here watching?
And, if I hadn’t been here, could she have healed his wound with just a few words and a click of her fingers?
Leaving him to suffer seemed like cruelty to me.
She finished the bandages and fastened them with a large pin. Arthur yelped as she pricked him with the sharp end.
I patted the man’s knee. “It’ll hurt less if you keep your comments to yourself.”
A knock came at the door and I opened it as Morgaine cleaned her hands with the alcohol. Will Scarlet stumbled in with a bloody cloth pressed to his face, head tilted back. I put a hand under his arm and guided him into the room and helped him into a chair.
“What the devil happened to you?” I asked.
He removed the once-white cloth and said through bloody teeth, “Nosebleed. Happens all the time.”
I guessed that was where the name Scarlet came from.
“Don’t tip your head back like that,” Morgaine said, coming over and crouching in front of Will. She held his head between her hands and turned it gently this way and that, looking into his eyes. “Dante, please get Will a fresh cloth.”
I saluted behind her back and saw Will try to suppress a smirk. I tossed him a clean cloth from a stack on the shelf, and held the bucket of dirty bandages out for him to throw the blood-stained one into.
“Lean forward and pinch your nose here.” Morgaine put a finger on the soft part of Will’s nose, just in front of the bridge. “How often would you say this happens?”
“Once a week, probably.”
“And do they last long?”
He shrugged. “Some do, most are over in half a day.”
I watched Morgaine for any change to her expression, but her face didn’t give away a single thought. She was impossible to read.
“Do you tend to bruise badly or get cuts and scrapes that take a long time to stop bleeding?”
Will nodded. Morgaine stood and patted him on the shoulder. “Stay like that until the bleeding stops and try not to do anything too physical for a day or two. You’ll be fine.”
She left the Infirmary and I hurried to follow her, calling a quick “Feel better” to the two patients.
“What is it?” I asked Morgaine when I caught up to her in the corridor. “Something serious?”
“I’ve seen that kind of bleeding several times before. It always ended the same way.”
“What way?” I asked, but I felt like I already knew what she would say.
She paused. “Put it this way, not many of the others made it to Will’s age, so he’s already doing better than expected.”
That sobered me. I liked Will, he seemed like a good man.
I saw Morgaine looking at me, her expression curious.
Had she thought me a monster who felt nothing?
I suppose I didn’t blame her, I’d felt the same way about witches, but watching her work in the Infirmary had left me conflicted.
She’d helped both Arthur and Will, with no sign of a spell or enchantment, just traditional healing remedies.
And she’d asked for nothing in return for her good deed.
Perhaps she wasn’t the wicked and unnatural creature I had expected.
The thought unsettled me, threatening to upturn my entire belief system and discredit my life’s work.
I pushed it down with every uncomfortable feeling I’d ever experienced.
She was still staring at me. I cleared my throat. “That, uh, bark you gave Arthur to chew. I wasn’t aware liquorice root had pain relieving qualities.”
Morgaine rolled her eyes and strode off down the hall. Over her shoulder, she said, “That was for his breath.”