“Read this and beware!” he said in a growl that reverberated off the stone walls of the town.
Without heed for the townspeople, the men kicked their horses forward and thundered out of the town, taking the opposite side, destroying yet another road before they vanished through the gates, leaving a stunned populace behind them.
It was some moments before anyone recovered enough to look toward the paper nailed to the post and the priest, who was able to read, stepped forward. He took his time in the reading of the parchment, and the townspeople were silent while they waited. When at last the priest turned, his face was white, drawn.
“Alyx,” he began slowly. “Alyxandria Blackett has been accused of heresy, witchcraft and thievery. The Earl of Waldenham says the girl used her devil-given voice to entice his son, and when he tried to resist her, she profaned the church. At his further resistance, she smote him with her evil powers and robbed him.”
For a moment, no one could even breathe. Alyx’s voice given by the devil? Perhaps she was astonishingly gifted, but surely God had given her her ability. Didn’t she use her voice in praise of the Lord? Of course, there were some songs she created that were far removed from church music, perhaps . . .
As one, they looked up as they saw Alyx walk across the ground that separated her house from the back of the church, saw her stumble slightly over a torn piece of earth cut by the knights’ horses. With puzzled expressions, some with doubt on their faces, they parted to let her pass. She stood still and silent, gazing at what had been her house.
“Come, my child,” the priest said quickly, his arm about her shoulders, as he half pulled her to the parish house. Once inside, he began to work quickly, tossing bread and cheese into a canvas bag. “Alyx, you must leave this place.”
“My father,” she said quietly.
“I know, we saw his body inside the flames. Hush, now, he was already dead, and I will say twenty-five Masses for his soul. We must worry about you now.”
When he saw she wasn’t really listening, he gave her a sharp shake, making her head snap back. “Alyx! You must listen to me.” As a light began to come back into her eyes, he told her about the notice for her arrest. “There is a reward for you, either dead or alive.”
“Reward?” she whispered. “Of what value am I?”
“Alyx, you are of great value, but you have angered an earl for some reason. I have not told anyone of the reward, but they will soon find out and they will not all protect you. Some greedy cur will be only too willing to give you away for the reward.”
“Then let them! I am innocent and the king—”
The priest’s laugh cut her off as he wrapped her in a heavy, too long cloak. “You would be found guilty and the best you could hope for is a hanging. I want you to go now and wait for me at the edge of the King’s forest. Tonight I will come for you, and I hope I will have a plan that we can use. Go now, Alyx, and quickly. Let as few people see you as possible. I will come tonight and bring you an instrument and more food. Perhaps we can find a way for a young girl to earn her keep.”
Before Alyx could reply to what was happening, she was pushed out the door, the bag of food about her shoulder, her hands holding the long cloak up. She hurried toward the gate, making no attempt to hide, but since nearly all the townspeople were still gathered at the ruins of Alyx’s house, no one saw her.
Once in the forest, she sat down, exhausted, griefridden, her mind unable to comprehend or believe the events of the last few hours. An hour passed in which the image of her dead father stayed fixed before her eyes and she remembered their life together, the way he’d cared for her. At last, after a night of prayer and a hideous morning, she began to cry, and cry, and cry, and wrapping the cloak over her head, huddling down into a tight little ball, she gave vent to her grief. After a long while, her tired muscles began to relax and she fell asleep, still shaking, buried under the folds of the cloak.
It was close to sunset when she woke, her muscles aching, her left leg hurt from her jump from the window, her head throbbing. Carefully, she pushed back the wool from her face only to see a man sitting on a log not far from her. With a frightened gasp, she looked about for a way to escape.
“There’s no need to run from me,” the man said gently, and his voice made her recognize him. He was the servant of Pagnell, the one who’d helped her escape the nobleman yesterday.
“Did you come for the reward?” she asked with a half sneer. “Perhaps I will tell how you helped me before. I don’t think your master will like that.”
To her surprise the man chuckled. “Have no fear of me, child,” he said. “Your priest and I have had a good long talk while you slept and we have a plan for you. If you are willing to listen I think we can hide you well enough that no one will find you.”
Nodding curtly, she looked at him, waiting for him to continue. As his plan unfolded, her eyes widened in a mixture of horror, fear and some feeling of anticipation at the prospect of adventure.
The servant had a brother who had once been a soldier for the king, but since the man had had the misfortune to live through all his battles to an old age, he’d been discharged from service with no means to support himself. For two years he had wandered alone, nearly starving until he happened on one of a band of outlaws, misfits and out-of-works who made their life in a vast forest just north of the town of Moreton.
For a moment, Alyx sat quietly. “Are you proposing I join this band?” she asked in disbelief. “As an . . . an outlaw?”
The servant understood her outrage. The priest had been full of praise for the girl’s good qualities. “Yes and no,” he answered. “A young girl such as yourself would not be safe with the band. For all they have a leader now and there is a measure of Christian goodness among them and some discipline, still a little thing like you would not last long.”
With a sigh of relief, Alyx gave a little smile.
“And, too,” he continued, “no one would hesitate to take you to the earl for the reward.”
“I can sing. Perhaps someone would hire—”
Putting up his hand, he cut her off. “Only the nobles can afford their own musicians, or perhaps some rich merchant, but there again, a lone girl, unprotected . . .”
Dejected, Alyx’s shoulders slumped. Was there anywhere safe for her?
When the servant saw that she was aware of the problem of hiding h