An excerpt from The Witch of Bastanes
Finally, Teresa combed her hair as best as she could, straightened her rags to look less disheveled, pinched her cheeks, although her pallor could scarcely be discerned in this light, and called out, “Guard, would you care to share a goblet of wine with a lonely woman on this dark night?”
She hardly had to ask twice. Both night-shift guards competed for her attentions and pushed each other aside to determine which of them might sooner unlock the cell to release her. They escorted her, like gallants, to the small barrel that served as a table, pulled over another barrel for her chair, and invited her to sit down. When one of them went to pour a goblet of wine, Teresa jumped up and squealed that a rat had just brushed against her foot. The guards shifted their attention to the dimly lit floor, looking for the silent intruder.
In the several seconds afforded by that fruitless search, Teresa slipped a small amount of the sleep-inducing potion into the guards’ half-filled goblets and stirred them with her finger. Trying to make light of the small disturbance, the two guards raised their goblets, toasted the lady’s health, and downed their drinks.
Minutes passed. The guards continued to recount past accomplishments, each attempting to distinguish himself as the more valiant. Gradually their speech slowed, began to slur, and trailed off to silence. First one, then the other, willing for all the world not to succumb, let fall his moist chin upon his soiled jerkin and fell into a deep sleep from which even an enemy attack could not wake him.
Teresa pulled a key ring from one of the sleeping goalers. She dashed to the prison door and, after what seemed like twenty tries, opened the lock and freed the others. Miquel cautioned everyone to be quiet as they wandered down dark corridors in search of an unguarded exit.
Christobol glimpsed a thin strand of light emanating from the hall to his right. He lurched in that direction, only to be restrained by Miquel’s hand on his arm. Jerking around, he saw his friend place a cautionary finger on his lips and urge them silently down the corridor in the direction of the growing light. Carefully peeking his head around the corner, Christobol saw Friar Tomaso sitting across a guard who was slumped over his chair, blissfully unaware of anything going on around him. Padre Tomaso stood, placing his finger to his lips, and led the company through a narrow passage that led to the outer courtyard.
The place was deserted and deathly quiet, except for the crashing of the waves against the rocks on the other side of the prison wall. The group moved in single file toward the rusted gate that Tomaso had identified on his previous visit. Quickly Teresa fumbled with her ring of keys to identify the one that fit. After a few abortive tries, she creaked open the gate. To Christobol, the rusty movement sounded like a screech from the gaping throat of Hell, sure to wake everyone from miles around, but they managed to slip out unnoticed.
Friar Tomaso led them along a dark path, toward the sound of the pounding surf. Rounding a bend, they were able to make out in the gloom the outline of two boats and the stooping figure of another friar loosening the lines that secured the boats to two posts in the ground. Quickly they divided into the two boats—Christobol and Aidor with the second friar in one and Teresa, Miquel, and Padre Tomaso in the other—and pushed off into the darkness.
There was no moon that night, and the waves bounced the tiny craft like a plaything. The friars seemed to know where to go and how to keep clear of the landing dock regardless of the relentless currents. At last, they came ashore at a place as empty and dark as a hole in the night. Taking each other’s hands, they waded to the stony beach and sat to rest.
Friar Tomaso again addressed the group. “Our destination is the Abbey of Fossanova, four hours’ slow walk from here. It’s the only place where the Frangipani can’t touch you and we can all get some rest.”
“But how will we find our way in the dark?” asked Christobol.
“Just stick to the main path north and east of here. It’s the biggest thing out there, a Cistercian fortress in the wilderness. We advised them in advance that you were coming.”
“Do you think that’s safe?” asked Teresa, sounding alarmed at the prospect. “Do they know we’re wanted by the Inquisition?”
“Oh, their concern is not with the Inquisition,” replied Tomaso. “The monks don’t care for the Frangipane family any more than we do. The Frangipani tax the common folk until they don’t have a pot to piss in, while they live in luxury in their palaces, and anyone who dares to oppose them politically ends up in a barrel beneath the harbor. They’re a bunch of thugs who consider themselves grandi seignori.”
“So that’s why you put yourselves in danger to help us,” concluded Miquel, who had been debating in his mind the wisdom of trusting the friars.
“Believe me,” Tomaso said with a smile, “anyone who is an enemy or victim of the Frangipani is a friend of ours.”
Feeling better, the group struggled to their feet and proceeded along the narrow path, in the darkness. The forest hung about them like an ancient collection of bones. Aidor clung to his mother, but he felt her concern and began to sniff back tears as he walked. They dared not light a torch, lest they draw attention to themselves. Not that anyone was out to see them at that time of night, but they couldn’t escape the feeling that they were being watched. Every branch that snapped under someone’s foot sounded loud enough to give their presence away, and the owls and other nocturnal creatures gave evidence by their cries that the company was both seen and heard.
When the night seemed its darkest and most silent, three ragged youths leaped from behind a bramble bush on the side of the road and called for the travelers to halt. The youths held staffs high above their heads, and they seemed perfectly willing to use them, but Miquel noticed something else about them that held him back from using his own staff. The rags worn by their attackers scarcely concealed the skin and bones that lay beneath. Their emaciated faces were pulled tight, and their eyes, sunken pools emerging from hollowed-out sockets, look desperate but not angry, determined but not happy. If Miquel was not mistaken, they actually seemed scared, although they had the advantage of surprise and they faced opponents armed with only their walking sticks. On second look, these attackers were scarcely more than boys.
Padre Tomaso, with that disarming smile of his, spoke first. “Do you boys want some bread? I brought a late snack with me.”
“We want all your money,” the lead boy said with a cracking voice.
Miquel lowered his stick. “I have some coins hidden in my sandals. You can have them. You needn’t endanger this boy and his mother.”
“We’re really very new at this,” the attacker said in a calmer voice. “We didn’t mean nobody any harm. It’s just that our parents are in debtor’s prison, and we are so hungry. We don’t have nothing, you understand.”
“Your parents went into debt to pay their taxes to the Frangipani and put food on the table for your family, do you say?” asked Padre Tomaso.
The head boy nodded. He pointed to his companions and said, “They only came along ’cause I told ’em to.”
“Then you’re one of us,” said Padre Tomaso, signaling to the others to form a circle and share what they had with the boys.
In a while, they were laughing, and the place didn’t seem so scary anymore. They talked about how oppressive the taxes were but that the emperor didn’t dare move against the signori because he sought to gain their support for his struggle against the pope. “It’s more than my head can manage,” said the lead boy, happy to know that somebody understood his problems.
“I have an idea,” said Padre Tomaso. “Come with us to the Abbey of Fossanova and ask the prior if you can work on one of the farms on the property. I’m sure he’ll pay you a decent wage so that you can get some food for your family. Only, don’t tell Frangipane that you have a job.” He winked at the boy, pleased with his own cleverness.
When they got up to continue their journey, the eastern sky was just glowing red with the emergence of first light. Pretty soon, the sun was low in the sky, and they saw in the distance the towers of Fossanova Abbey.
Join Theresa and Miguel on their adventures in The Witch of Bastanes - available on Amazon.
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