The Forest Laird(79)

“This minute.”

“No point in that, Cuz. He’s not there, remember? He was in Norham yesterday, for the auditors’ decision, so even supposing he left immediately after that, he would barely have had time to get here.”

“The messengers got here last night.”

“Aye, but they were messengers, Will. They rode non-stop, in relays. Bek is a Bishop. He will travel at leisure and in dignity, so it will be at least tomorrow before he shows up.”

“Do we know where his army is encamped?”

Duncan shook his head. “Not precisely, though we can easily find out.”

“Find out, then, as quickly as you can,” Will growled. “I want to be there by dawn.”

I looked at him. “Why so early? Bek won’t be there at that hour.”

“No, but I’ll be waiting when he gets there.” He stood up. “In the meantime, I’m going to find Mirren, if only to wrap my arms around her and dry her tears. I’ll see you all later.”

“Wait.” I pushed away from the table. “I’ll walk with you, at least part of the way.”

Neither of us spoke again until we were beyond the Abbey gates, on our way into the town. I knew he was thinking about Mirren and I had no wish to interrupt him. The tragedy of what had happened to her aunt and her cousins would no doubt have appalled her, but from all I’d heard she was a strong young woman and would take no permanent ill of it. The violation of women, though everyone deplored it, was far from being unknown, after all, and most particularly so when the land was disputed by opposing armies. At such times, the unspoken right to plunder and to violate enemy women was regarded as a victorious soldier’s privilege, and everyone, women included, understood that to be so.

This particular act, however, had not been committed in war. God could not allow it to go unpunished, and I knew my cousin was determined that it would not.

“So, Cousin, what was it you wanted to say to me?” He spoke in Latin, a sure sign that he knew his question, and my answer to it, to be important.

A hundred thoughts sprang to my mind at once, but I forced myself to ignore all of them and respond quietly, also in Latin. “That you should proceed cautiously in this.”

“I should? And why is that?” Will spoke with his head down, his eyes on the pathway ahead of him. “What need have I of caution here, Jamie? Five good women have been attacked and ravaged without provocation. Two of them are dead, with more, perhaps, to follow, who can tell?”

It had stopped raining sometime in the past hour, and the early darkness of full winter obscured everything, save glints of moonlight reflected haphazardly from the puddles all around us, where beams had managed to penetrate the broken mass of clouds overhead. Will sidestepped towards me to avoid a large puddle. “Why should it be I who needs to be cautious? The evidence we have found indicates that the women’s attackers wore hobnailed boots, which indicates soldiers, clearly in the employ of some lord wealthy enough to equip his hirelings with such footwear, which means that in all likelihood these murderous animals are English. The only force of English soldiery in the district is commanded by Master Antony Bek, whose pride in his men and their accoutrements is sufficiently well known for him to be called the Warrior Bishop. And I have need of caution?

“Now I know I don’t have to tell you, Cousin, that as King Edward’s own lieutenant in Scotland, and as a prince of Christ’s Church, Bishop Bek should decry even the possibility of any man of his being involved in such a crime, and therefore I intend to go and speak with him, to bring the affair to his attention in person. Of course I see a need for respect in how I approach him, taking care to recognize his rank and to offend none of his dignity. That need I can see clearly, and I will attend to it. But you are warning me of a need for caution, and I see no such need.”

As I listened to him, marking the bitterness in his words, it occurred to me that this was the longest speech I had heard Will Wallace make in years. What did not occur to me, though—in fact I only thought of it long afterwards—was that he had spoken with authority, with the assuredness and conviction that comes only after months and years of performance. I completely missed the evident fact that my closest friend and dearest relative had become a leader in his own right, accustomed to speaking with conviction to men who listened to him closely.

And so, in my ignorance of what had happened to him in the previous two years, I continued talking to him as though he were still the lad I had known before.

“I’m not talking about—” But I fell silent, suddenly aware that he had already responded to what I was talking about, even before I had mentioned it.