Chapter Twenty-Two #2
MacInnis pointed in the direction of St. Francis church. “We buried the dead in a big grave outside of the churchyard,” he told him. “There were so many, ye see. The churchyard wouldna hold them all.”
Cortez stared at the man before unwinding his arms and rubbing a weary hand over his face.
The circumstance that MacInnis was relaying to him was really quite staggering.
It was quite possible that Robert had been found by the priests and buried.
It would explain why they hadn’t been able to find any trace of him. But something still didn’t make sense.
“My friend was left to die on the outskirts of the battle,” he said.
“As the battle was dwindling, I dragged him over to the eastern side of the battlefield. I had to leave him for a short while and when I returned, he was gone. There was so much mud that I naturally assumed he was sucked in by it. When did the priests start collecting bodies, MacInnis? Did they even wait until the battle was over?”
MacInnis shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “The priests were collecting the dead and wounded while Edward was still waging war.”
God’s Bones! Cortez thought as he stared at the man. As if a bolt from heaven had burst down upon him, suddenly, Robert’s disappearance was starting to make a good deal of sense. He could hardly believe it.
“But the mud,” he said again, still having a difficult time comprehending what he’d been told. “It could have easily swallowed up a man.”
MacInnis nodded. “ ’Tis possible, m’laird,” he said. “The only way tae find out is tae come tae the church. The priests saved all of the Sassenach armor and weapons. We dinna bury the men with their regalia. Mayhap yer friend’s armor is there.”
Cortez was so electrified by the prospect that he was literally shaking. “Will you take me?”
MacInnis nodded and together, they headed back into the tavern where MacInnis told his wife of their plans.
Cortez, however, had moved into the common room, his mind whirling with possibilities.
Was it actually possible that the priests had collected Robert’s body and buried him?
Was that why they had been unable to find him?
He was staggered by the prospect and as MacInnis led him towards the front entry of the tavern.
Cortez passed the table of his knights and he called out to them.
“All of you,” he snapped. “With me now.”
The men got up from the table without question, following Cortez out into the stormy afternoon.
Together, the group of them followed Cortez and the tavern keeper across the road, across a small field, and then down a larger road that led to the church of St. Francis.
It was a march of sorts, a determined pace set by Cortez, and they could all feel the seriousness of it.
Curiosity was turning to concern. Keir, who had been walking with the perplexed group of knights, finally caught up to Cortez.
“Where are we going?” he asked quietly. “What has happened?”
Cortez could only shake his head. He didn’t dare want to hope they’d come to the end of their journey, but on the other hand, it was difficult not to pray for that possibility.
The hope that their quest would finally come to an end was heavy on his mind.
He glanced at his friend, now getting soaked again as the rain fell and the thunder rolled.
“We are going to the church,” he said. “I’ll tell you when we get there.”
Keir had to be satisfied with that answer which was, in fact, no answer at all. But he kept his mouth shut, walking next to Cortez as they marched down the road to the church of St. Francis, a squat parish that Keir and the others had spent a good deal of time in, praying for little Sophie.
Soon enough, the big, brown-stoned building loomed in front of them and the group shook off the rain as they entered the dark, musty-smelling sanctuary.
Banks of candles illuminated the cavernous space, a weak defense against the darkness of the storm that cast gloom over everything. Once inside, MacInnis turned to Cortez.
“Wait here, please,” he said. “I will go get the priest.”
Cortez nodded as the man disappeared into the shadows in search of a priest. When he was out of sight, Cortez turned to his men.
Seeing all of the curious, if not worried, faces around him, he shook his head with all of the astonishment he was feeling.
He struggled a moment to put his thoughts into words.
“I have just been told by the tavern keeper that before the battle was even over, and in order to prevent the women from Clan Hamilton and Clan Livingstone from looting the dead, the priests of St. Francis began removing the dead and wounded from the battlefield.” He looked around at the faces that were now nearly as astonished as his.
“It is quite possible that is why we have not been able to find Edlington. The priests may have already removed him. That is why we are here, to find out the truth. The tavern keeper tells me that they kept the armor and regalia from the men they buried and I have asked to see it. Mayhap Edlington’s is among it. ”
For a moment, no one spoke. They were all digesting the astounding information. Finally, Michael hissed.
“God’s Bloody Teeth,” he said. “That would make a good deal of sense. No wonder we were not finding any bodies as we dug. None were there. The priests had taken them all!”
Cortez nodded. “Exactly,” he agreed. “Had I been smarter about this, I would have come to the church first, but it did not occur to me that the priests would have taken an active interest in burying English dead.”
“And if they have, in fact, buried him, what will you do?” Drake wanted to know. “Lady de Bretagne must be told. With her daughter so ill, it will be a difficult thing for her to know Edlington is already buried.”
Cortez shook his head. “I think it will ease her mind,” he said. “To know he has already been taken care of should ease her. At least, I hope it will.”
“What if she wants him back?”
“I will deal with that situation if, or when, it comes.”
No one had anything more to say to that.
At this point, with no hard evidence, it would do no good to speculate on the future.
They stood around for several long minutes in a tense little group until MacInnis and a priest suddenly appeared out of the darkness.
The knights moved forward to greet them, unable to wait, anxious to discover truths.
They closed in on the priest and the tavern keeper, surrounding them.
“This is Father Lewis,” MacInnis said. “He helped collect the dead and wounded that day. I told him that ye were here looking fer yer friend and he has agreed tae show ye where they put all of the possessions confiscated from the English.”
Cortez addressed the small, brown-eyed priest. “Thank you, Father,” he said. “We are grateful for the mercy you showed the English after the battle and we are further grateful for your assistance. I would like to know the fate of our friend.”
Father Lewis was a fairly young man with bad skin and a hooked nose.
He eyed the big English knights around him.
They appeared rather anxious. He seemed rather wary of them but pushed it aside.
MacInnis had assured him they were honorable English, if such a thing was possible, and MacInnis was a man to be trusted.
Moreover, they were here in search of a friend, a noble quest. His initial reluctance faded.
“No weapons are permitted,” he told them.
Instantly, swords began to drop and smaller daggers also kept on the body were removed as well.
Drake even pulled one out of his boot. No one argued in the least, and no one seemed to be worried that their valuable weapons were in a pile near the front entry of a church.
They were more concerned with gaining access to the church itself.
Everyone except Cortez, that is. He wasn’t going to part with his weapons so the most he did was release his broadsword.
Everything else, including a dagger in full view at his waist, remained on his body.
The priest eyed him but didn’t press. They’d mostly complied, anyway. He was willing to let it go at that.
“Come with me,” he said.
The group followed. Cortez in particular walked right behind the priest, his eagerness nearly overwhelming him.
He was starting to feel less astonishment and more hope, hope that they could finally discover what had become of Robert Edlington and hope for closure for Diamantha.
She had suffered so very much through all of this and he began to pray that finally, they would know the truth.
But then he remembered he hated God so he stopped praying, only to start up again when they reached the cloisters.
He was so torn that he didn’t know what to do.
The next few moments would more than likely tell.
If Edlington’s items were among those kept by the priest, then he would definitely give thanks.
If not, then he would curse God once again.
He didn’t want to face the fact that they might never know what happened to Edlington. He had to have hope.
The cloister of St. Francis was a long, dormitory-like building.
There were two floors to it, novices on the bottom floor and priests on the top.
There was a room called the Warming Room, which was really just a smaller room with a hearth in it.
It was on the bottom floor, near the entry door, and it was into that room that Father Lewis led them.