Wicked (10 page)

“Let me see what you have hidden behind you. And it better not be your bow.”

Sofia shook her head. “’Tis not my bow, silly. Fetch that water ewer from the table and then I shall show you.”

Edith brought over the water so quickly she was sloshing it all over the floor tiles. She stood before her. “I have the water. Now what?”

Sofia pulled her hands out from behind her and gaily tossed two handfuls of pink, flaccid objects on the Queen’s daybed.

Edith squinted her eyes and bent over the tick. “What
are
those things?”

“Pig bladders,” Sofia said with a laugh of wicked glee. “I stole them from the kitchen.”

Edith made a face. “Why?”

“I spotted them tucked inside a tin the other day when I was looking for that apple to shoot off Lady Juliette’s head.”

“Poor Juliette.” Edith shook her head. “Has she recovered yet?”

“No. She is still having a witch’s fit.” Sofia’s voice was filled with disgust. “’Twas only one small scratch and she will have to part her hair toward the left for a while. One would think I had skewered her, when in truth, the arrow only sliced through just this much,” Sofia held up her fingers, “of her hair. Besides, she was stupid enough to let me try the shot. I was nearly successful, too.” Sofia chewed on a nail thoughtfully, wondering what would have happened if her angle had been more to the west.

“What are you going to do with pig bladders? Not shoot them, I hope. And be aware, Sofia,” Edith added in a rush. “I will not let you aim your bow at me, nor will I be the stand for any kind of target you wish to take aim at.”

“Of course not, Edith.” Sofia clasped her friend’s hand and patted it reassuringly. “I would never expect that kind of silliness from you. You are much too important to me for that. You are my dearest friend.” Sofia turned and picked up a bladder and dangled it in front of Edith’s face. “What say you? Would you like to hear my plan?”

Edith crossed her arms and eyed Sofia suspiciously. “I have learned not to commit. You explain first.”

Sofia stretched the bladder wide, then she turned to Edith, holding open the bladder. “There. I shall hold it while you fill it with water.” She paused thoughtfully, then muttered, “I only wish it was the oldest and strongest vinegar instead of water.”

“Why vinegar?” Edith tilted the water pitcher slowly and began to fill the thing.

“’Tis nothing. Just a thought. Now be careful.” Sofia stretched the mouth of the bladder open even more. “Pour slowly.”

“Look! It is swelling. And swelling!” Edith paused and tilted the ewer upright.

“Do not stop yet. The thing needs more water.”

“I must stop.” Edith’s eyes grew almost as round as the bladders. “It will surely burst!”

“That is the point, Edith. It must be stretched taut. We should fill it almost to bursting.” Sofia held it up and eyed it, then instructed Edith to pour a little more water inside until the bladder had swelled so she could see the water inside.

“Stop.”

Edith tilted the pitcher upright.

Sofia lifted the bladder, which was stretched so taut you could almost see clear through it. In fact, she could see Edith’s worried face.

“Do not fret so. I promise this will be most amusing. There. ’Tis perfect!” She tied off the bladder and carefully set it on the mattress, then grabbed another one and stretched it open. “Now fill this one, too.”

Edith was frowning at the water-filled bladder as if she expected it to explode right there.

“It will be fine. Just help me fill the others.”

Soon they had filled and tied twelve bladders into plump and sloshy balls which were stacked in a pile of buoyant lumps on the bed.

Sofia picked up one of the balls and rolled it from one palm to the other, grinning. She looked up and handed it to Edith. “Here. Feel this.”

Carefully Edith took the ball and cupped it in her two small hands. She eyed it as if she expected it to pop open any moment.

Sofia picked up another one. “Now follow me.” She walked over to the arched window. “Look outside, Edith. Do you see that chalk mark I drew on the stone steps?”

“The circle with the mark in the center?”

“Aye. ’Tis a target, like in archery. The object of this game is for both of us to drop the bladders at the same time, and whoever comes closest to the mark wins.” She paused and moved over. “Come now, let us hold out the water balls and start the game.”

Edith moved carefully, balancing the bladder, and soon both girls were bent over the arched casement, the balls extended in their outstretched hands.

“When I say drop, we let go at exactly the same moment. Understand?”

“Aye.”

“Edith?”

“Hmmm?”

“I believe you stand a better chance to hit the target if you open your eyes. You should take aim at the mark.”

“I don’t like heights.”

Sofia shrugged and said, “Drop!”

They both let go. The water balls fell like missiles from heaven and burst open on the stone step with a loud
splat
!

“Look! Look! Mine was closer!” Edith was jumping up and down, laughing and pointing and apparently forgetting about her fear of heights.

Sofia frowned. Her bladder had bounced just a little before it burst and missed the mark by a good arm’s length. “Aye. You did particularly well, for unlike you, I had my eyes open.” She paused for a thoughtful moment. “Having my eyes open did not seem to help.”

She spun around, eyed the balls for a moment, then grabbed the plumpest one for herself. ’Twould never bounce, she thought as she walked back to the window. “Come, let us do this game again. Whoever has the most target hits by the time we have dropped them all, will win.”

“What is the prize?”

Prize? What prize? She had not thought about a prize. She’d had another purpose completely. But, without missing a moment, she said, “My sapphires.”

Edith’s eyes grew wider, for the sapphires were tear-shaped and a rich blue color, a gift from the King himself. They were the loveliest of anyone’s except the Queen’s.

“The ones Edward gave me as a reward for finding his favorite scepter.”

Edith gave her a wry look. “You mean the same scepter you were using to prop open the trap in the barbican so you could eavesdrop on the guards talking about playing in the hay with the kitchen maids?”

“Aye. The very same one.”

“So let me see if I have this straight. If I win, you will give me the sapphires?”

Sofia nodded. “And if I win, you must be the one to accompany the Queen to confession every eve for a fortnight.” Sofia looked at Edith. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

It was not long before plump pig bladders were falling from the tower window like missiles during a siege. They were in a tie; each had an equal number of hits when they finally were ready to drop the last two bladders.

“Whoever is closest wins.” Sofia said as she leaned way out of the arch and eyed the target, stalling for a moment, before she adjusted her feet a little to the right. “Now do not drop it until I say to do so.”

“I did better with my eyes closed,” Edith admitted and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

“I have an idea, just to make this more interesting, let us both close our eyes.”

“Fine,” Edith agreed with her eyes still shut.

They both leaned out the window.

“Close your eyes tightly, Edith.” Sofia said, leaving her one eye open just a smidgen and looking intently downward. “On your mark . . . ”

Sofia waited a little longer, until she heard the squeak of a door hinge.

“Make ready . . . ” Sofia finally closed both eyes when she felt she had the bladder right over the spot she wanted.

The door below creaked open.

“Drop!” Sofia whispered.

They both let go at the exact same moment.

’Twas also the exact same moment that two of Edward’s knights walked out the scarcely used western doors and stood directly atop Sofia’s chalk target.

In unison, the girls leaned out the window to watch, each gripping the stone casement in their hands and looking downward.

There came a grunt of male surprise.

Splat! Splat!

The pig bladders hit the two knights square on their heads.

“God’s blood!” came the cursing from below.

Edith’s mouth fell open and she stood frozen.

But not Sofia. Grinning, she grabbed Edith’s hand and jerked her away from the window, then she ran to the doors, dragging her friend with her as she ran down some back stairs and hid in small dark shadowed niche two floors below.

They could still hear the men swearing.

Edith looked at Sofia. An instant later they both began to giggle.

“My Lord in heaven,” Edith gasped. “Who was it, do you suppose? No one uses those doors!”

Sofia began to laugh so terribly hard she had trouble catching her breath. “I know the knight in the cloak.”

“You do?”

“Aye.” She giggled again. “’Twas Gloucester’s eldest son.”

“Sir Tobin de Clare?”

Sofia nodded, now laughing so hard she was making snorting noises into her hand.

Edith stopped laughing and studied her for a long time. “Did you know he was in the castle, Sofia?”

“Know he was here? Me? Why Edith! Are you suggesting that I planned this whole game just so I could hit him over the head with a pig bladder full of water?”

“Aye, I am. I have known you for many years, which is why I did not volunteer to put that apple on my head, dare or no. I would not put it past you to do something like this.”

Sofia drew herself up into a stance she thought showed her indignance. “Truly, Edith, what is the likelihood that he would come out those west doors of the tower? You said yourself that no one ever uses those doors.”

Edith was silent for a pensive moment, then she searched Sofia’s face. She sighed and said, “I suppose even you could not plan something so intricate and devious.”

“Aye.” Sofia said clapping her hands. “But what good fortune it was that he merely happened to choose those doors at that particular time.”

The bell rang announcing None, and the girls left the tower to meet the Queen in the solar. ’Twas later that day, though, well after Vespers, that Sofia accompanied the Queen on her evening visit to the castle priest.

After Queen Eleanor was through, Sofia went inside the small, dark confessional. Once there, she blithely admitted with no remorse that it was she who had given the arrogant and cold Sir Tobin de Clare the wrong direction.

So as the Lady Sofia knelt in the chapel, her head bent in one of the hundred and thirty three prayers she must say for penance, she smiled, for that one single look on Sir Tobin’s arrogant face—his wet and red face—was well worth a night of sore knees.

Chapter 8

They said revenge was sweet, and it was. Sweeter in reality than it had been in Sofia’s dreams for the past two years.

She slept late the next morning, later than was her usual routine. She felt lazy, like a cat that had just finished all of the cream, and she stretched her arms high above her, her hands in fists as she groaned a little, then arched her stiff back and yawned.

She lay quietly under the soft, warm feather coverlet, trying to ignore the coming day. Sounds echoed inside the Gloriette from the bailey below. The watchman’s horn. The constant creaking of the carts and wagons which brought supplies into Leeds. A coarse shout here and there. Horses clopping on the stones in the courtyard. Dogs barking. Goats braying. Birds singing on the ledges of the tower.

But those things did not bother her overmuch. She just closed her eyes and the only thing she heard then was the sweet, wonderfully rewarding sound of Sir Tobin de Clare swearing his way into Purgatory.

She sighed, then thought back to the image of his wet and surprised face looking up at her. ’Twas like living one of her dreams all over again and she wished ever so much that she could do it again, with a hundred pig bladders. A thousand! She wiggled underneath the feather covers, then pulled them up under her chin. After a moment of utter satisfaction, she began to laugh, just as she had so often since the day before, and during her penance prayers, and probably even during her sleep.

Finally the hubbub in the bailey grew to such a din that the deaf, or even the extremely satisfied, could not ignore it, so she threw back the covers and rose. She slid her feet into her fur slippers, then padded across the room to the arched window that overlooked the farthest end of the inner bailey. The shutters were open and she rested her chin in one hand and looked yonder toward Canterbury and the world beyond. There was a light breeze in the air, cool and crisp, and it ruffled the hair at her temples and dried out her lips when she moistened them. For a moment she let that breeze brush against her face.

She heard a sudden shout and the horn blew from the watchtower, then there was the creaking, loud squeal of the portcullis in the barbican slowly rising.

A contingent was coming through. In the distance she could see golden brown dust still billowing in the air over the road. She heard the horses’ hooves pounding a hollow, echoing beat across the wooden drawbridge.

It was probably only the King’s hunt party returning. They always rose at dawn, an ungodly hour, then went out to kill the animals in the woods. Sport was what they called it.

In Sofia’s mind sport had nothing to do with killing animals that were a hundred times smaller than you and everything to do with water-filled pig bladders. She found herself smiling again, then she just giggled, because it was very, very hard not to keep gloating when gloating was so amusing, and she was all alone so no one would see her anyway. It was wicked to laugh so, but that certainly did not stop her.

However, the sounds from below changed in pitch and caught her attention. There was the rattling sound of men dressed in mail and armor. The voices were many and unfamiliar. And there were too many horsemen. Those were not the sounds of a hunting party returning.

Idle curiosity sent her leaning half out of the tower arch, her waist bent against the stone ledge, her long dark hair hanging thickly over her shift so she needed no robe to cover her.