Warlord(95)
The chapel was small but stone-built, with the main door set in an arch at the western end, a font in the centre of the space and a large altar at the eastern end. On the altar was a huge golden cross, and set before that was a wooden box, slightly larger than a foot square, nestled on a vast purple velvet cushion. The box was of dark brown wood, polished with beeswax and seemed to be the centre of veneration on the altar. Beyond the altar, in the north-eastern corner of the chapel, I saw a wooden door, perhaps a discreet entrance for the priest, perhaps leading to a vestry or storeroom of some kind.
The rest of the chapel was sparsely furnished, a couple of benches, pushed up against the far wall and the two impressive chairs that held Hanno and I captive – but it was filled with the most marvellous light, shafts of red, brown, blue and green, which streamed through a large stained-glass window directly opposite our chairs, in the southern wall of the chapel. The window occupied almost all the wall before our eyes, beginning perhaps four foot from the ground and soaring up to the high domed roof of the chapel sixteen feet above. It was about four foot wide and constructed of small coloured panes of glass held in place between delicate strips of lead. Perhaps inevitably, it depicted an image of Our Lady, cradling the infant Jesus and looking with deep compassion at the miserable mortal sinners huddled at her feet. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a masterpiece of light and colours; a true visual treasure. And I found that I could not look away. As the hours passed and the sunlight shifted, I grew mesmerized by that exquisite coloured image of Our Lady; I prayed to her, asking for her to intercede with Almighty God for my sins – for I felt certain that I would soon be meeting the Lord – and I vowed that I would be a better man if I managed to survive this encounter with the three-thumbed ‘man you cannot refuse’. I do not know if I slept or dreamed, but as time passed the face of Our Lady seemed to change – and began to resemble Goody, my beloved. I realized that I had not seen her in so many months, and I felt the absence like a void in my soul. A part of me wished that, instead of coming to Paris to track down this evil man who had ordered my father’s death, I had instead forsworn vengeance and gone home to Goody. Perhaps Robin had been right: if I had been content to let the matter lie, I might now be in Goody’s arms instead of anticipating my death like a bound pig awaiting the November slaughter, in a foreign land far from all those whom I loved.
After three or perhaps four hours, Sir Eustace entered the chapel by the big door to my right. He stood in front of us, still wearing his amiable idiot’s grin, but his eyes, I noted, were cold black shards in his handsome face. His hand toyed with something that hung from the right-hand side of his belt.
‘You are a persistent fellow, Alan Dale,’ he said. These were the first words that he had uttered since capturing us in the garden. ‘Persistent even for a gutter-born busybody who can’t keep his nose out of better men’s affairs.’
I said nothing but looked down at the object he was toying with at his belt. It was a weapon of some kind, unlike any I’d ever come across. A wooden handle in the shape of the capital letter T protruded from a broad leather scabbard about eight inches long. His blunt fingers stroked the horizontal crosspiece of the handle as he spoke.
‘You were warned to leave well alone, and by your liege lord, no less, your superior before God, but you refused to listen to him,’ he said, his words humming with anger. And I thought: Robin – he knows that Robin told me to drop my enquiries. This angry moron and the three-thumbed freak, and the rest of the murderous Knights of Our Lady, are all acquainted with Robin, and their relationship is such that they can ask Robin to tell me not to investigate my father’s death. A cold, black pit opened up in my stomach. But Sir Eustace was still speaking.
‘You were thoroughly warned, but you would not let it pass; and now we have all had enough of your meddling. You are a hard man to kill, I give you that, Dale, and you have the luck of the Devil in battle; but today your luck has run out. Today is the day that you will die. Today you will see the face of God.’
Sir Eustace paused, and took a gulp of air; he had worked himself up into some sort of state, and was trying unsuccessfully to control himself. When he spoke again it was in short panting breaths. ‘But you are blessed, too; more blessed than you deserve or than you can imagine. Your death will be swift and painless; and your Salvation will be assured.’
He stopped. I said nothing, but Hanno then spoke.
‘You talk too much,’ said my bold Bavarian. ‘When you have some killing to do, you don’t talk – you kill. Only a fool talks before he strikes. But you, you are a talking fool. Talk, talk, talk. I will tell you this for nothing, talky fool: you threaten us, you’d better kill us good while you have the chance, because when I get out of this God-damned chair, I am going to rip out your cowardly liver and choke you with it. That will stop your talky mouth!’