“Have you ever heard of a Brazen Bull?”
Pictures in her illuminated manuscripts. Saint Antipas, Saint Pelagia, Saint Eustace. Martyrs all, roasted alive inside terrible metal contraptions. “Yes.” The word stuck in her throat.
Palmer leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Fitzurse is having one worked at the forge on the morrow. Within a day, two at most, he’ll have you put in it to make you tell what you know.”
Theodosia’s mouth could barely form her words. “Know about what?”
“They want to know where your mother is. And once you’ve told them, Sister, he’ll finish you off in there.”
She’d sworn to resist the knights, not to tell what she knew. The torch prickled raw heat onto the backs of her hands, mocking her vow. To have burning metal against her face, her breasts, her arms, her legs, have it secured there, with no release. Resist that? She let go of the torch with a stifled cry.
Palmer held the flame aloft. “I’m glad you see sense.”
“But why are you suddenly my savior?”
“Because he wants me to do it to you.”
He’d tricked her. Theodosia whirled round. The axe, she had to get to the axe.
Palmer was quicker than she. With two long strides, he jammed his foot on its handle as she flung herself to the floor to grab it.
“You sinful, evil liar.” She hauled at the axe handle but could not budge it.
“I’m not lying.”
Theodosia stood up and shook her head. “Do not make it worse. At least have the courage to speak the truth.”
“Sister, I know you don’t trust me, but believe me when I say I can’t carry out Fitzurse’s order.”
She gave him her most distasteful look. “You carried them out in the cathedral. At the inn. Yet now you tell me you have reformed. Repented. Seen the evil of your ways, so you would rescue a helpless nun. I do not know what you are up to, but I am not a complete fool, Sir Palmer.”
The knight took a deep breath. “I worked for Fitzurse for his money. But I can’t do what he asked to you.” His look hardened. “But neither am I about to risk my life for naught. You, Sister Theodosia, are worth a pretty penny to me. If I save you, I’ll ransom you back to the Church. That way, I can still collect. See?”
She summoned another look. “But by the way of the cross, you are truly an ignoble soul.”
The man on the floor groaned and stirred.
“Our friend is about to wake up, Sister. Ignoble as I am, I am your only hope. Are you coming with me?” He jingled the key. “Or do you want to stay in here with him and wait for Fitzurse to come to you?”
EPISODE 2
CHAPTER 6
Theodosia clambered up the narrow staircase with her skirt clutched to keep from tripping, the muscles in her legs weak from effort. But she carried on as fast as if Fitzurse were two steps behind her, ready to roast her alive.
Ahead, Sir Palmer’s long legs made easy work of the climb up many stairs.
What if he lied? What if she were running toward an even worse fate? The pictures from her manuscripts flashed before her again. Her prayers as she’d read of the martyrs’ deaths imagining their agony, their hell. No. There could be no worse.
The next flight had an iron handrail to one side. She reached for it with sweated palms and used it to lever herself up, grasp by grasp. Palmer could have easily killed her in the dungeon, if that was his plan. But he hadn’t, not even when she’d burned him with the torch, horrifying herself. His story of ransom must be true. An ignoble, base act, but one that would keep Mama alive. Would keep her, Theodosia, alive and deliver her back to the safety of her beloved church.
He halted on the landing above and looked back down at her, finger to his lips.
Theodosia nodded her comprehension as she steadied her breath.
He gestured toward a half-open door as she climbed from the top step.
They went through the doorway.
A stone open range, banked for the night, gave poor light to a large shadow-filled room. The castle kitchen.
Theodosia scanned the room for another door. The walls held only the range and wide shelves with earthenware and copper pots of every size and shape. “There’s no way out of here,” she whispered.
Palmer pushed past her and went to a large wooden table on which half a dozen pottery pitchers stood. He peered into the pitchers and gestured to her. “Go and look on that back wall.” He kept his voice low. “There’s some aprons on there. Get one and put it round you. Hurry.”
He made little sense. Theodosia looked at him as she crossed the wide kitchen. Now he poured dregs of wine into his hand and rubbed it on his face and neck.
To trust this man may have been a huge mistake. She rummaged amongst the hanging clothes covers, the cloth sticky and foul with grease. She looped one on over her head as she went to his side.