The Trinket Seller's Daughter Page 2

  “Think on it, Father. Brother Arnauf did say that there is safety in numbers and poor Garriden has no one. You could teach him your craft, and besides, he is all alone and the world is a brittle place when you are thus,” Emelin said quickly.

  Roger nodded his head in thought. “I like Garriden well, but it may not be wise. I fear that the boy has formed an attachment to you. If we offer him a home, he may believe it is because you care.”

  “But you could talk to him, Father. Explain that I do not and will not love him in that way. Tell him that we offer the bond and companionship of a family.”

  “Very well, I will talk with him but do not be distressed if he refuses. I fear that he is already in love with you,” Roger said although he sounded less than convinced.

  “Nay Father, he cares for us both because we have shown him kindness and he has had scant little of that in his life.”

  Roger smiled warmly at his daughter. “You have a good heart, my child. I will speak with him tonight. Sleep well Emelin.”

  “Excellent, I’ve always wanted a brother.” She smiled and as she leant over and kissed him in the cheek before disappearing into the carriage.

  And as the night drew in and Emelin was between the cusp of waking and dreaming, she wondered what it would be like to love a man and if she ever would.

  ~* * *~

  The next morning Emelin, her father, Garriden and Brother Arnauf all travelled at the back of the group. There was a relaxed and peaceful feeling emanating through most of the group. Everyone had been happy to amble along at a slow but steady pace. The forest had thinned a little which allowed the sun to drip through the green leaves.

  Emelin looked past the oaks and saw hazels, elders and hawthorn bushes. Wood pigeons foraged through the brambles and little wrens could be seen bopping up and down among the sorrel and the cowslip by the edge of the road. Spirits were high and the party of travellers had broken into smaller groups. The Bauls as usual, were at the head of the column followed by their servants. Then came Brother Silas and two of the peddlers. He was recounting biblical stories and both the other men were captivated. There was a break of quite some distance as Brother Carwin was walking slowly and showed no inclination to catch up. He was engrossed in a lively conversation with John, the third peddler. John sold bodkins, thimbles and tippets of lace, and like all the other peddlers was on his way to Reach Fair. They had discovered that they both came from the village of Little Bleeford which was nestled near the Welsh boarder. So their conversation was full of warmth, laughter and reminiscing. Garriden and Emelin came next; they were walking just ahead of the carriage. She could hear the rumble of her father’s laugh but could not make out his conversation with Brother Arnauf. For her part, she and Garriden had been discussing the fair and wondering what it would be like. Garriden had made her laugh with a silly song about boars and ducks and was half way through telling her a riddle when a scream pierced the air.

  Emelin heard the scream as it echoed from around the bend in the road – the same bend that the Bauls and their servants had disappeared around a short time ago. The cry sounded for a second time. Emelin ran several steps forward, instinctively wanting to help. But there was something about the sound that made her pause. It possessed an animalistic quality. It was wrong and made her shiver. Garriden was already grabbing at her hand and was pulling her frantically back towards her father’s carriage.

  “Come on, Emelin, run!”

  Roger quickly urged his horse to turn around. Once the carriage was facing in the opposite direction, Roger jumped down and roared her name. Hearing the panic in her father’s voice she flew to him. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Emelin get into the secret, NOW!”

  The secret was a hidden compartment within a false bottom of the carriage floor. It was located under the driver’s seat and to the naked eye it was undetectable. Roger often used it to hide any precious gems or materials that came his way.

  “Father, it’s too small, I won’t fit.”

  “Aye, you will!” He lifted her up into the carriage. “Brother Arnauf if you would stand up for a moment.” Jumping up behind her, Roger kicked a basket of trinkets aside to reveal the wooden boards of the floor. Stooping down, he quickly lifted the opening and started to empty the secret of its contents.

  Garriden watched with growing apprehension as the Bauls cart came flying around the bend. Huw was driving the team as if the Devil was chasing him. Garriden could hear him shouting but he couldn’t make out what he was saying as he was too far away. But Brother Silas obviously heard as he and the peddlers turned and started running in Garriden’s direction.

  “Master, make haste!” Garriden yelled to Roger. “Whatever the danger, it’s almost upon us!”

  Roger picked up a small pouch and tossed to Garriden. “Here lad, a few things to help you with a new life. Now, run or hide or do whatever you must do to survive. Go and raise the alarm.”

  “Nay!” Garriden replied as he shook his head in denial. “I’ll stay with you and protect Emelin. I’ll stay with you and Brother Arnauf and I’ll—” He broke off as more than a dozen men surged around the bend. Several had bows and they loosed their arrows towards Huw and the retreating cart. He had been shouting a warning when his face contorted in pain and he fell without another word with three arrows in his back. The horses mad with fright continued racing down the road, oblivious to the cart or the loss of their driver.

  “By the veil of St. Agatha,” whispered Brother Arnauf as he watched the men turn their attention to Brother Silas and the peddlers. He looked at the young minstrel standing bravely next to the carriage whose eyes betrayed the fear he felt. “Garriden, you must run. There is nothing you can do. Don’t you see boy, we are overwhelmed. Pax vobiscum my boy, pax vobiscum.”

  “Go son, it’s alright. There is no shame in it.” Roger nodded in agreement. “As the good brother said - may peace be with you.”

  “Please Garriden, save yourself if you can!” Emelin entreated. “Please Garriden! Run!”

  With a look of resignation and despair on his face, grasping his lute and the small pouch tightly in his hands, Garriden turned and raced head long into the woods.

  Roger took the amulet from around his neck and pushed it into his daughter’s hand. He kissed her fiercely on the forehead. “Not a word, nor a whisper nor a sigh. Your promise Emelin, no matter what you hear. You will be silent.”

  “I promise, Father.”

  “Then in you go. I love you, child.” His voice was thick with emotion as he helped her down. Emelin curled up in a small ball but her eyes never left her father’s.

  “I love you, Father.”

  “I know.” With one last smile Roger placed the cover over the compartment. “Now hush. Be silent.” Another cry drew his attention. Looking up he saw one peddler fall in a hail of arrow and then another. He jumped over the seat and picked up the reins. The carriage lurched forward. “Move, Hebby! Sit down, Brother, and hold on. I will not meekly give up our lives; if they want them then they must come and get them!”

  “But Roger, what of my brethren? We cannot abandon them!” Arnauf asked desperately. He turned to see Brother Carwin standing defiantly in the middle of the road, John the peddler stood bravely by his side. Ahead of them, Arnauf could see Silas running and there was a moment of reprieve when he saw that the villains had lowered their bows. But his blood ran cold when Nicodemus rounded the bend and began to bear down on the fleeing monk. The rider was not Master Baul but a warrior with flowing red hair, he held a sword aloft in his right hand and effortlessly guided his mount forward. Silas sensing that death was near increased his pace. If he could only reach Brother Carwin, thought Arnauf. Surely they would not kill men of the cloth! Then in a blink of an eye the rider brought down his sword and slashed it across Silas’s back. The force of the blow made Silas crumple onto the dusty earth, he was dead before he hit the ground. With an evil smile breaking across his face, Archer
slowly began to advance on Brother Carwin.

  Dear God in heaven, be merciful.

  Arnauf murmured before clasping Roger on the shoulder with his gnarled hand, “You are right my son, we must flee for Emelin’s sake and may God be with us.”

  ~* * *~

  In the darkness Emelin was being shaken from side to side as the little carriage hurtled down the track. The sounds overlapped each other and everything was jumbled and chaotic. She could hear calls, screams, her father’s voice shouting at Hebby and the rhythmic beat of hooves drawing closer. There was a roar and the carriage began to rock. She put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from crying out, when suddenly she heard the crack of splintering wood as the carriage collided with something solid. The sudden impact threw Emelin forward and she hit her head and as unconsciousness engulfed her, all was silent.

  ~* * *~

  Allard had been following the outlaws’ tracks through the winding forest for hours; he believed there must be about fifteen in number – three on horseback and the rest on foot. The vengeance in his heart urged him on. Find them, find them, find them. The desperate voice within him repeated over and over again. So on Allard went seeking his prey, over the faerie lines and along the ancient forest tracks. The wind snaked through the pines and encircled him before continuing on its way, he stopped and listened, sensing something. With his head tilted to one side he could hear the birds in the trees, there was also the sound of trickling water indicating a nearby stream but there was something else. His brown eyes narrowed as he detected movement in the foliage ahead of him. He unsheathed his sword and readied himself for the incoming attack, just as a deer broke through the bushes and ran past him. A grin broke across his face and he shook his head at his own folly. He sheathed his sword and picked up the trail again, when a young man with golden hair came through the trees. He looked as if he was near exhaustion; he staggered forward but kept casting glances over his shoulder as if something was hunting him. On catching sight of Allard, the boy half ran and half stumbled towards him.

  “Sir, you must run. They’re coming. I think they killed everyone!” he said breathlessly as he collapsed in front of Allard. Quickly, Allard stooped to his aid, crouching down he supported his back and handed him a flask of water. The boy drank it greedily before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “My thanks, my lord, but we must hide. They are coming, they were just behind me.”

  “Who?”

  “I know not, only that they attacked us this morn. We were a group of travellers who had fallen into fellowship together. We were going first to Cambridge and then some of us were continuing to Reach for the fair.’

  “And your fellow travellers?”

  “Dead, I fear. But I pray that I am wrong. Master Roger, the trinket seller, was still alive when he bade me to run, as was Emelin his daughter and Brother Arnauf. They hid her. They hid her in the carriage. She should be alive.” He rubbed his hand across his eyes. “I was going back to help. I was going back to find her, but these men hound me and I cannot shake them.” His voice trailed off in defeat and once again he looked worriedly over his shoulder “We should go. We’re not safe here.”

  “What is your name, boy and how many hunt you?” Allard asked as he rose to his feet and unsheathed his sword once more.

  “My name is Garriden and there are three men who chase me.”

  “Then rest, Garriden and all will be well.” Allard reassured him as he stepped past the boy and began to walk towards a group of pines. There was a sound of movement through the undergrowth ahead. “And when I return, you shall give a detailed account of what has occurred.”

  “Wait! Come back my lord, it could be the outlaws.”

  “I truly pray that it is, Garriden and not another deer!” Allard said as he disappeared behind some hawthorn bushes with a cold smile tugging at his lips.

  ~* * *~

  Emelin jerked awake. For a moment, she panicked as she forgot where she was. Her head hurt and the darkness of the secret compartment was overwhelming, it was as if a great cloak of black velvet was smothering her. She listened for several minutes but the only thing she could hear was her own breath drawing in and out. Slowly, quietly she cracked open the door and peeped out.

  The carriage lay on an angle and its contents were scattered all about. She climbed out and carefully made her way to the back of the carriage and sat down letting her legs swing over the edge, the sensation of pins and needles swirled around her feet, ankles and all the way up to her knees. Dismissing her discomfort, Emelin jumped down from the carriage to survey the damage. It was lying off the road amongst several boulders of grey rock, it had lost a wheel, the axle splintered and worst of all Hebby was gone.

  “Father? Father?” she called softly as she walked around the carriage. There was nothing but the wildflowers growing through the soft green grass near the rocks and the quiet forest beyond. In that moment she would have given all she possessed to hear the sound of her father’s voice, but all was still, except for the twittering of small birds in the nearby tree. With a growing sense of apprehension and dread, Emelin turned from the carriage and began to run back down the road. Maybe he and Brother Arnauf were tending to the others.

  “Father! Father, where are you?” Her voice was tinged with panic. Ahead in the distance a dark shape was lying in the middle of the road. A tight ball formed in the pit of her stomach and she prayed with all her might that it was merely a discarded cloak and nothing more. She ran as fast as she could and all the while the same words echoed through her mind. Please, please, please don’t let it be him - don’t let it be him! Emelin came to an abrupt halt when the image finally penetrated into her brain and she realised what truly lay six feet ahead of her. She sank noiselessly to the dusty ground, tears blurred her eyes and she was incapable of catching her breath. She looked in horror at the five lifeless bodies lined up in a row, straight into the face of her beloved father.

  ~* * *~

  The broken carriage had come to rest against mound of rocks; splintered wood was strewn on the ground as were a broken basket, a cooking pot and a few pieces of cloth. Allard climbed up into the carriage only to discover that the secret compartment was empty. The question was, Had the girl escaped or not? With a sigh, he jumped down and looked up at the sky. The late afternoon sun was beginning to sink into the west. He made his way quickly down the road, listening for any movement – be it the outlaws, survivors or the girl as he went.

  Soon he came across the line of bodies on the road. He had found the minstrel’s travelling party. At least he had an answer to his question. Yes, the girl had obviously survived the attack. The bodies of the three monks and two peasants were all lying on their backs. Their eyes closed, their arms had been crossed over their chests and in the hands of one of the peasants was a rough cross made from two sticks which had been bound with leather thong. Looking up he could see that the same considerations had been given to three more bodies which lay further up the road. Allard began to search for any signs to show in which direction the girl had gone. After a few minutes he found what he was looking for; caught in a prickly hawthorn bush was a small piece of pale grey fabric. She had fled into the forest.

  ~* * *~

  Archer sat proudly on his newly acquired grey stallion. They were riding on an ancient track that snaked its way through the dense forest. Pulling back the reins he slowed the horse’s pace, tossing back his long red hair and beckoned his lieutenant forward. Ott was small and nuggetty, he had chestnut hair and a long scar ran almost the length of the left side of his face. It had caused the skin to pucker and pull and had resulted in pulling his left eye down at the corner. This added to a naturally unpleasant personality had earned him the name “Gargoyle.” He urged his black pony forward and reined in next to his leader.

  “We have three men missing. They have not been seen since they chased that foolish boy into the woods this morning. Bring them back.”

  “Yes, Archer.”

 
“We will return to the camp and on the morrow, make our way to that fat little village of Upper Wafteron,” he said with thin smile on his lips.

  “But Archer, there is nothing there except a few peasants and their daughters.”

  Archer’s water blue eyes narrowed as he turned his rugged face towards Ott.

  “You question my decision, Gargoyle?” he asked in a silky voice.

  Realising his mistake, Gargoyle quickly recanted. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn. I’ll go and find the men.” He turned his mount around and galloped back down the track before Archer could respond.

  ~* * *~

  Allard cursed as he strode through the forest. Where was she? He was losing the light and his patience. All he wanted to do was find Archer and extract some vengeance. The last thing he needed was to have to chase a lost girl through the forest but he had given Garriden his word that if she was alive, he would find her. The boy had insisted that she was defenceless and would need protection.

  Allard stopped and tilted his head to one side, he could almost hear something. There was a faint smell of flowers in the air and as Allard began to quickly spin around a large piece of wood came cracking down on his shoulder. It broke in half as it made contact and for an instant he sagged under the force of the blow. Ignoring the pain, he righted himself and turned ready to tackle his enemy. But Allard stopped in his tracks because standing before him was a girl of extraordinary beauty. A curtain of dark hair fell to her waist; she had creamy skin, soft full lips and the bluest eyes he had ever beheld. She was standing with her feet apart and her breathing was laboured. She cast a nervous glance to the broken branch which she still held over her shoulder with both hands.

  “Not one step, you devil,” she said with grim determination and lifted the branch a little higher. “Where is the rest of your band?”

  “Emelin,” Allard said he took two paces towards her. “I mean you no harm.”

  “Stop!” Fear flickered across her face as she watched him advance. She was scared but stood her ground.