One of the old men coughed into his hand. Without a word, a servant took him a goblet of ale.
“And what did your men think when at four different times in the past four years, landless knights have come to lay claim to Penwyth?”
Lord Vellan said, “They thought it absurd to fight. They thought it efficient to let the curse deal all the blows for them. And so it happened as we all prayed it would. All of them, dead by the curse, and all of us still here.”
Bishop said slowly, “So you allowed all the invaders into the keep? You offered no resistance at all?”
“No, I did not. I opened the gates, welcomed them, warned them. None of them went to his death without due warning. I read each of them the curse to be certain they understood. I entreated them to leave and take their men with them. When they refused, I provided them fine hospitality. I wanted none of our people hurt as many are in the rage of battle. I wanted no siege.” Lord Vellan shrugged. “It is unfortunate, but none of them believed me.”
Merryn said, “I believe my fourth bridegroom—a Sir Basil of Ware, did believe my grandfather, but you see he had fifty men at his back, and he’d promised them riches and a home, and thus he could not back down. I could see that he had heard stories and that he was afraid.” She sighed. “He told us that the king had sent him. It was a lie, and the curse knew it. He didn’t seem too greedy a man, but it didn’t matter. The curse said he would die and so he did.”
Lord Vellan said, “He refused to eat at his own wedding feast, claimed he wasn’t hungry, but it was obvious to all that he was afraid of poison. He claimed he simply wanted to take his new bride to the marriage bed.”
“What happened?” Bishop couldn’t help himself, he sat forward, nearly knocking over his goblet.
“He took my hand,” Merryn said, “and forced me to rise with him. He kissed me in front of all the company. He told me to drink his wine. I drank it. Then he lifted the goblet and drank himself.
“He kissed me again and again. Then he drank more wine. He was laughing and laughing when suddenly he fell, dragging me down with him. He whimpered as blood spurted from his mouth and nose. It took him a long time to die. All believe it was because he lied about being sent by the king.
“His men were terrified. They were gone before I could even drink a toast to Sir Basil’s untimely death.”
“None of your four husbands ever bedded you, Lady Merryn?”
“That, Sir Bishop, is something I share only with God at my evening prayers.”
Lord Vellan said, “The king writes that you are to relieve Penwyth of its curse, that you are a man versed in dark and ancient lore, that you have powers many do not comprehend, and that if anyone can succeed in cleansing Penwyth, it is you. This is what the king commands.”
“Aye, it is.”
“If you do succeed, then you will leave me open to the next man who wishes to steal Penwyth. It is a bad thing, Sir Bishop.”
“The king, wisely, does not wish to have long-dead curses plaguing his lands, killing his people. This is what the king wishes. I am his emissary. I hope that the purveyors of this curse, be they spirits or mortals, realize that if I am killed, the king will simply take Penwyth and you will all be dispossessed, likely slain.”
“It is a terrible thing,” Merryn said. “The king punishes us. It makes no sense. My grandfather’s grandfather was given these lands by King Henry II in 1174. You would give us to the next greedy landless knight who comes along.”
He shrugged, said nothing at all. He watched her face turn nearly as red as her hair. Let her explode with rage. Let sweat trickle down her face. He looked at Lord Vellan. The old man had no expression whatsoever on his seamed face. Then, quite suddenly, he smiled, a ferocious smile that was filled with enmity and guile.
Bishop knew in that instant that he had to tread very carefully around the old man. If the king had asked him at that moment, he would have sworn the old man had poisoned all four husbands, that no curse was at work here at Penwyth. But he could do no more. He’d already done the best he could to protect himself.
6
MERRYN RAISED HER FACE to the sky. “Did I feel a raindrop on my nose?” She wiggled her nose, batted at it, and said, “Oh, my, no, no rain. I do believe it was just more blowing dust. So where is this rain you predicted, Sir Bishop?”
Bishop turned at the sound of her voice. He was standing atop the ramparts, near one of the four circular towers, looking out over his future lands. He was congratulating himself on still being alive. He leaned back against the thick stone wall. A guard stood some twenty feet away from him, his gray hair blowing in the hot wind. Another old man. Did Penwyth breed old warriors or perhaps old warriors from other places congregated here for their final years? He didn’t mind them at all. Once Penwyth was his, he would find out.
He crossed his arms over his chest. He saw that Merryn’s sneer was back in full force, and said with as much control as we could muster, “I do not believe the rain will come today. Perhaps by tomorrow evening. How long has it been dry here?”
The sneer fell away as she said, “Nearly six months without rain. People hereabouts believe it has something to do with the curse.”
“Ah, I see. They believe the curse to be both a blessing and a blight.”
“That’s right.”
“So you believe that witches control the weather, with ancient Druid priests chanting at their backs, adding their power?”
“No, I would not say that, but it is what some people believe.”
“The drought started four years ago when the first husband came?”