Reynold de Burgh: The Dark Knight

The two women huddled together, Ursula whimpering softly, and the man took up a stance next to Mistress Sexton. Although his pitchfork pointed toward the ceiling, there was no mistaking his defensive posture. Surely he was not her husband? Reynold tensed at the thought. He had assumed she was unmarried because she wore her hair down and, well, she was so beautiful … Reynold frowned at such reasoning. But hadn’t she called herself a damsel? Reynold felt a certain tautness in his chest ease.

Besides, the man’s clothes were not as fine as hers, nor was his manner, for he said nothing, only looked frightened. Indeed, everyone was still and silent, as though awaiting something, though Reynold had no idea what. Perhaps Stephen was arriving to personally witness the havoc wrought by his jest.

The thought annoyed him. ‘All right, I have followed you here like a trained monkey. Now what?’ he asked.

‘Shh! He’ll hear you,’ the boy Alec said, his face ashen.

‘Who?’

‘The dragon,’ the man whispered in a fierce tone.

Reynold snorted. ‘So it is here now? I admit I’d like to see the creature for myself.’ He turned to go up the stair, but a squeak from Alec stopped him. The stark terror on the boy’s face made him hesitate.

‘He can hear really well,’ Alec whispered. ‘Or else he sniffs us out.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because sometimes he’ll burn the places where people are hiding with his fiery breath.’

Reynold tried to remember if he had seen any charred areas when riding through the village, but thatched roofs were prone to fire, as were the flimsy structures of most village homes. What would make these people think a dragon was responsible? Reynold’s eyes narrowed and then he shook his head as if to clear it. This was only a jest, some nonsense concocted by his brothers, and though the players were convincing, he would not be mocked as a fool. He turned once more to go.

‘Don’t move.’ The man spoke in a nervous high-pitched voice, but his words made Reynold swing toward him. Although the fellow still appeared frightened, he was holding the pitchfork in front of him, as if intending to run Reynold through with it. Let him try, Reynold thought, his hand on his sword hilt.

‘No, Urban, stop!’ Mistress Sexton said, grabbing at the man’s arm. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I am protecting us all from this stranger and his actions,’ the man said, though he seemed to possess more bravado than bravery.

‘This stranger is a lord and a knight who is here to save us,’ Mistress Sexton said, and the pitchfork dipped, as though its owner faltered in surprise.

‘Perhaps your weapon might be better used against the dragon,’ Reynold said, wryly. ‘You are welcome to join me above.’

Without waiting for a reply, Reynold was up the stair and through the narrow door in a moment and heard no sound of pursuit. Indeed, he heard no sound at all. Whatever had driven the group to the cellar had stopped, and the building was eerily quiet once more. Reynold moved to the exterior door and scanned the area outside, but nothing stirred. Thankfully, his destrier and Peregrine’s mount remained where they were tied, Sirius idly flicking his tail at a fly, with no sign of distress.

Reynold glanced upwards, but the only thing in the sky was a bird or two. Leaning against the doorframe, looking out over the oddly empty village, he tried not to wonder why his brothers had concocted this elaborate scheme. In their younger days, boredom, restlessness and a competitive streak might have driven them, but to these lengths? And now they all were occupied with new responsibilities, except for Nicholas, who usually was not one for such silliness. Had Reynold once expressed some yearning to Geoff over a romantic tale long forgotten? To slay a dragon? His wish for a damsel, or a lady of his own, he hoped he had kept well to himself.

Reynold shook his head. There would be time for such musings later. Now he just wanted to get away from a place that, fraud or not, was too strange for his taste. And then what? And then where? Again, Reynold pushed such thoughts aside, focusing solely on Bury St Edmunds. Hearing footsteps behind him, he straightened, but it was only a rather shamefaced Peregrine who approached.

‘You would think that a hungry beast such as a dragon would make short work of such tasty morsels, wouldn’t you?’ Reynold asked, inclining his head toward the horses.

‘My lord, I swear I had no hand in this,’ Peregrine said. ‘All I know is what the l’Estranges told me about your quest.’

‘The seers,’ Reynold said, with a low sound of dismissal.

‘‘Tis true! They can foretell the future, my lord! Why, I’ve heard that—’

Reynold cut the boy off with a raised hand. ‘Do you see a dragon?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then let us cease this nonsense and be gone.’

‘My lord, I …’ Peregrine’s words trailed off as though reluctant to voice his opinion. That had to be a first, Reynold thought wryly.

‘Well, what is it?’

Wearing a worried expression, Peregrine faced Reynold directly. ‘I think they are serious.’

‘What?’

‘About the beast, my lord. I know you believe the l’Estranges had something to do with it, but I don’t see how. And those people seem really frightened.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I didn’t follow you up the stairs right away, a cowardly act that I’m sorry for, but the man with the pitchfork was right by me,’ Peregrine explained in a rush. ‘And after you left, they were arguing.’

‘Who?’

‘That man Urban and Mistress Sexton. I think he’s her servant or inferior, but he still tries to tell her what to do.’ Peregrine glanced behind him and lowered his voice. ‘I fear he’s a bully.’

Reynold almost laughed aloud. They were standing among empty buildings in an abandoned village inhabited only by a couple of people who were raving about a dragon. And Pergrine was concerned that one of them, a fellow who looked ill at ease wielding even a pitchfork, might act the petty tyrant? It didn’t take his brother Geoff’s intelligence to figure out just why the boy was concerned. Mistress Sexton had made at least one conquest, though not, perhaps, the one intended.

‘I don’t think we should leave her here with him,’ Peregrine said.

Reynold shrugged. ‘She is welcome to go with us to Bury St Edmunds.’ Or wherever she makes her true home.

Peregrine shook his head. ‘She won’t go. I think she’s pretty stubborn since she wouldn’t listen to that man.’ The boy gazed up at Reynold with a look of expectation, as if waiting for him to fix everything with a wave of his sword.

Reynold frowned. As the runt of the de Burgh litter, he was used to seeing such blind faith directed at his brothers, not himself. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘Listen to me.’ Mistress Sexton’s voice rang out behind him with a strength and determination not evident before, and Reynold turned towards her. She stood alone, lovelier than ever in a shaft of light from the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, and he could see why his young squire was so taken with her. But Reynold told himself he was older and wiser—and far more cynical.

‘You cannot abandon us,’ she said, with a fierce expression that did not lessen her beauty. ‘I charge you upon your vow as a knight to hear me out. Let us go to my home, where you can eat, and we can talk.’

‘Why should we open our pitiful stores to those who may rob us?’ Urban asked, appearing behind her.

‘There is precious little to steal, should they be so inclined,’ Mistress Sexton said, without even turning towards the man. She kept her attention upon Reynold, and such was the force of it that his own will wavered. What if she wasn’t lying? He could almost hear his father’s admonition not to turn his back on a woman in trouble.

‘You don’t know this stranger,’ Urban protested. ‘And you have only their word that he is a lord or a knight.’

Reynold gave Urban a long, assessing look, trying to determine what part he played in the scheme. The fellow appeared both frightened and belligerent, but one thing was clear: Peregrine wasn’t the only one taken with Mistress Sexton. Was Urban simply covetous of the damsel, or was he the bully Peregrine thought? Reynold had an obligation to aid those in need, as Mistress Sexton liked to point out. But was there a need, and, if so, just what was it?

If he could get her alone, Reynold thought he might be able to discover the truth, but that idea led his mind in another, more tantalising direction until he put a stop to it. He needed to keep a clear head, lest he become just another addled admirer of Mistress Sexton. Even if she wasn’t a liar, experience had taught him to be wary of women, especially beautiful ones, for they had no interest in a man like him.

‘Very well,’ Reynold said. ‘I shall hear you out.’

The look of relief on her face made Reynold uncomfortable, and he stayed well back when she led the way out of the church. From that position, he could keep a wary eye on the pitchfork, lest it find its way into his back.

Gathering the reins of their horses, Reynold and Peregrine retraced their route round the curve in the road, then followed a short track to the small manor. It looked like any to be found in a little village, solidly built of stone and slate, except for the forlorn aspect and the grass that was growing too tall around, proclaiming its neglect.