“You must be aware that I came upon your father’s death scene. ” Merle tightened his fingers on the parchment, remembering the depravity pervading the glen where he’d found Harold’s mutilated body. It was like nothing he’d ever seen, even on the worst battlefield. A maniac had been there…and even as Merle attempted to see if there were any survivors, he felt the weight of evil suffocating the small, still glen. His eyes burned with tears a hardened man such as he would be loathe to shed. “I’m sorry that your father is dead, and in such a manner. It was unconscionable. Whoever did such a deed is surely already in hell. ”
“Thank you,” Dirick replied, his gray eyes still somber with grief.
“The king writes that you are in search your father’s murderer,” Merle continued, gesturing with the parchment. “I would be happy to be of assistance in any way I can. ” His offer was sincere, although he did not have any urge to relive the experience of coming upon that bloody scene.
Dirick nodded briefly, and now there was an element of rage flickering behind the grief. “Although it must be difficult for you, my lord, I should like to know every detail of what you found. ”
“Of course,” Merle replied. “And it can be no more difficult for me to recount it than for you to hear of it. Again, I am sorry…and even more so for having to tell you what I will. ”
He closed his eyes briefly to pull the scene back into his memory, and then began to describe how he’d come upon Derkland. “We traveled along the border of Maitland and the king’s forest— my man-at-arms, Raymond, my squires, and several other arms bearing men rode with me. ’Twas late in the day, near twilight, and we were weary, seeking Maitland Keep for the night. As we rode, a shrill, horrible cry met my ears. It was the cry of a horse in pain. My mount reacted as if he himself was in danger; but once given his head, he thrashed through the brush to the glen. ” Merle swallowed as he remembered the heavy stench of blood that filled his nostrils before he even saw the horror there.
As if sensing his host needed a moment to collect himself, Dirick took a drink from his wine. “There were no survivors?” he asked after he swallowed.
“Nay. We put the horse out of her misery—she had three broken legs and was tied to a tree. I’ve never seen such carnage. And such torture. ” Merle’s jaw tightened. “’Twas a waste and a travesty. ”
“My father?”
Merle took a deep breath, recalling the last time he’d seen Lord Harold hale and hearty. “I would it had not been anyone, but particularly your father. I had met him on two occasions, and he was a very fine man. We talked of betrothing your elder brother to my Maris, but alas, it was not to be. Maris and Bernard did not suit. However, your father did favor the match. ”
He sipped to moisten his parched throat and continued his description of the scene. “Your father was dead from stab wounds, yet the bastard had slit his throat as well. Very little blood drenched the ground, so it appeared clear he was dead when his throat was cut. And then…” He rubbed his temples with a forefinger and thumb. “I saw the imprint of a horse’s hoof in the back of your father’s neck. The force appeared to have snapped his spine, and was so strong that it drove his severed neck into the ground. And,” Merle swallowed hard, for this was the worst part. “His face was pulled back to face the sky. ”
“By the hand of God,” Dirick murmured.
Merle looked over and saw that his guest’s handsome face had turned dark and stony, and he wished yet again that he had never come upon such a sight. But there was more. “Your father was not alone. He was arranged opposite another man, their hands joined at the wrist. ”
“By God, I will find the monster. ” His vow was soft and hard. “For my father to die unshriven…in such an unspeakable manner…. ”
“Nay, he was not unshriven, lad,” Merle told him. “A priest was in my party and gave last rites to your father and his companions. ”
“Praise God for that, at the least,” Dirick said quietly. “Is there aught else, anything that will help in my quest?”
Merle was silent for a moment. “I can think of nothing. The men were divested of any coin and weapons they might have carried and some horses were missing…yet, I believe it was no mere robbery. ”
“Nay. Slaughter is more like. God help the man who did this. ”
“I questioned the nearby villages for news of a roaming party of bandits, but either they were too frightened to tell me, or they saw no one. That is all I can tell you, I am sorry. ”
Dirick nodded, and at that moment, there was a knock on the door of Merle’s private chamber.
“Aye, enter,” he called.
The door opened and a page entered, bearing a folded parchment. “My lord, this arrived by messenger. He was told not to await your reply. ”
“Thank you,” Merle took the missive, and, glancing at the seal, smiled in satisfaction. “Ah, good. ” The paper crackled as he opened it to read.
Dirick was torn between banishing the images of his father’s murder from his mind and mulling over them in hopes of finding some answer in the details, somehow. As Lord Merle closed the document, Dirick returned his attention from taking in the details of the small, wood furnished room. “Good news is always well come,” he said with a nod toward the letter.
“Aye, indeed. ’Tis a message from the man with whom I hope to betrothe Maris,” the man explained. “He and his father Lord d’Arcy should arrive within a se’ennight. ”
“Hope to betrothe?” he repeated, wondering what it was about the woman that kept his brother, and, obviously, numerous other suitors, from laying claim to her many lands through her hand. Dirick was curious in spite of himself. Mayhap she was impossibly ugly—still, few men would turn away the chance to hold as many lands as the Lord of Langumont regardless of what the woman looked like. Or perhaps she was yet still too young. Although it wasn’t uncommon for a girl of eight or nine to be betrothed and then wed when she was fifteen or sixteen.
“Maris is rather unusual,” Merle said with an indulgent smile. “She is seventeen summers, and to date I haven’t found a suitable man for her. But ’tis nearly done—just the papers need to be signed upon Victor d’Arcy’s arrival. ”
“Unusual?” Was she ugly, or deformed in some way…or, perhaps, mad? No wonder Bernard had not “suited” with the woman. His wife Joanna was lovely in both form and character, and they had been wed only a bit longer than a year.
Merle dismissed Dirick’s question about Lady Maris, saying instead, “You will join us at the high table for dinner this night?”
“Aye. Yet, my lord, I must ask that outside of this chamber, I’m merely Dirick de Arlande—lately come from France. I’m not a man of the king, but I am an itinerant knight in search of work. I have another mission for his majesty that involves the fief of Breakston. Neither of us wish for Baron de Savrille to know of my identity before I arrive there. ”