The Fifth Knight(112)

Edward shook his head. “Your blasphemy knows no bounds. You’re lucky you have the likes of me to pray for your soul.”

“And you, my friend, are lucky to have sinners like me to pray for. Keeps you busy.”

“Never a truer word.” Edward raised his goblet to Benedict and sipped.

“I think, gentlemen, we will retire soon. Thank you for this excellent meal,” said Amélie. “We will leave you to your wine.” Her knowing glance to Theodosia encouraged her to eat up, but she’d already finished.

Theodosia nodded and rose to her feet along with her mother. She couldn’t wait to leave the knight’s presence.

“Good night, gentlemen.” Amélie swayed in the cabin’s roll, and Theodosia took her arm to steady her.

“Good night, Sister Amélie.” The reply came from both men.

“God’s rest to you both.” Theodosia escorted her mother from the cabin, with a brief, polite smile for Edward and Benedict.

“And you, Sister Theodosia,” replied Edward.

Benedict looked straight ahead, as if he’d heard nothing, seen nothing.

Theodosia helped her mother along, fighting down her anger at his slight, at his crude drunkenness. It shouldn’t matter; he would soon be out of her life forever. Then why did she care so much?

♦ ♦ ♦

“Good night, my blessed.” Amélie yawned as she settled under the rough cover. “It feels strange to be in a bed that sways, but I know I’ll sleep well. My very bones feel tired tonight.”

“I know what you mean, Mama.” Theodosia bent low to kiss her mother on the cheek. She straightened with care so as not to bump her head on the low roof of their tiny quarters belowdecks. Only a step away in the cramped space, her own hammock beckoned, promising blessed respite from her regret, her sorrow. Suspended just high enough to clear the floor, it too had a single cover. “I’ll do the candle now.”

“Leave it till you’ve undressed.” Sleep softened Amélie’s voice.

“No, I can manage.” Theodosia blew out the tiny flame. She didn’t want her mother to see her raw flesh and shaven head, have to offer any more explanations. This was between her and God.

The darkness was almost complete and brought the regular movement of the ship under her feet to greater prominence. Though cold and damp, the air smelled stale with the scents of hundreds of voyages and cargoes.

Theodosia raised her hands to her veil and slipped it off. Her wimple proved far more difficult. Her fingers found the tucks, the knots, and eased them loose with difficulty. Finally, it came undone and she pulled it free. She moved her head from side to side and eased out the muscles in her neck and shoulders. When she replaced the wimple in the morning, she doubted if she’d be able to get it as tight as Edward had. Still, she’d have to try.

Now for the belt. Again, she used her fingers to try the knot this way and that. Oh, why wouldn’t it loosen? Not being able to see made it impossible. She pulled at it, picked at it, pushed the knot against itself. It wouldn’t budge. Perhaps her mother could help. But Amélie had drifted off to sleep, her breaths long and regular.

Theodosia yanked at the rope in frustration, rubbed her fingers and palms raw as she fought to free it. It was no good. Her heart sank at the idea of trying to sleep in this scratchy dress, with its tight cord belt intruding into her flesh all night. That no doubt had been Edward’s intention. But she needed rest, at least for now, at least until she met the King. She tugged again. If only she had something to cut it with, but she’d nothing. She brought her hands to the back of her head for a last stretch before she climbed into bed, her shorn hair horrid under her touch. Hold. Edward had a razor.

She dropped her hands. Why not borrow that? If the monk and Benedict were still drinking, she could be in and out of Edward’s sleeping area in a minute or two. He would never know, and she would get some rest. She turned to make her way back through the dark, damp confines belowdecks.

As they’d come aboard, the captain had directed Edward to the front of the boat. It should be easy enough to find. As she crept out of her sleeping quarters, the narrow passageway held some light from where Edward and Benedict sat. She could hear Edward’s authoritative tones as he held forth yet again. Benedict made an incoherent interjection.

They were still safely occupied. She went forward, past the piles of sacks that made up some of the ship’s cargo. The full hold was stuffy and airless as she went through, feeling her way in the dim light. A small, closed door showed at the end of one of the high piles of goods. That must be it. She went to it and opened it with care, lest someone else used it. The tiny room was deserted but lit with a covered lamp. It held a narrow bed, with a straw mattress and clean linen. Far finer quarters than those she and her mother had — it must be the captain’s. She turned to go, embarrassed at having intruded.