Lair of Beasts [Book I in the Curse Of Blood Saga]

Chapter II - An Odd Encounter

1363 AD (seven years earlier...)

The great, sprawling metropolis of Heathersea was easily fifty miles north of our little village of Billburyshire, which was no more than a hamlet by comparison — the population nothing to Heathersea's; despite the Black Death. My father, who had business in the capital, had relented grudgingly to bring us along, but it had taken us two full days, though we were on horseback, to travel thence, by virtue of the soggy roads having been inundated with mud from the heavy rains of the day before. 

Due to our slow progress, we — my father, Elinor, and I — had been forced to spend the first night at an inn not thirty miles south of Heathersea. By the second night, having already marched a grueling five and twenty miles, my father procured a single room in another inn — not half so comfortable as the first — that seemed, in fact, more like an alehouse than the conventional lodgings more suited to a weary traveller with a few marks in his purse. It had been crowded and filthy, and to that end, the proprietor had no rooms to spare but one. The three of us, therefore, had to squeezed into that small, ridiculous room while our servants had been relegated to pallets in the stables. 'Twas no matter, for we rose with the cockerel and were once again on our way as the sun broke along the horizon, with only five more miles to go.

What did I care for such inconsequential inconveniences in any event, for I would soon be seeing one of the largest cities in the country; an extraordinary feat for a girl who had never travelled a day in her life. That my father should approve my inclusion along the journey was miraculous and extremely fortuitous; or so I had thought then.

Though it was midsummer, the days were unusually chilly and our crops had not fared well this year. Less than half our two thousand acres lay fallow. Winter had not completely retreated from the south and July had utterly reneged on the promise of warmth. The £20 per annum of yesteryear, generated by Buttongrass Hall's estate, had dwindled dismally to less than half that much. 'Twas why we were on this sojourn.

My thoughts had came full circle by the time I brought my eyes back to rest atop my father's balding pate. I was not supposed to be privy to his reasons, but I knew — for even a normal child's ear is as sharp as flint — that Edwyn sought to petition the banks for a loan, and thereby facilitate the family, as well as his yeoman and servants, through another, possibly dire, winter. The Heathersean Bank was, as like as not, no better than a usurer, but my father was now a desperate man.

❅

My enthusiasm, having waned pitifully during our tedious journey over the quagmired trails, had returned tenfold at the sight of the flying buttresses and mammoth city walls of the Cathedral of Saint Brennan as the morning sun erupted over its golden dome.

As we drew near the walls, our nags ambling leisurely across a narrow bridge, my jaw practically loosed completely from its catch, and it was all I could do not to leap over Elinor's wide lap and bolt ahead.

We were sharing a pony, she and I, while my father sat astride his own bay gelding, his brow furrowed and his shoulders tense. This did not concern me, however, in as much as I had not the troubles that he entertained, save the need to sit still and resist the urge to run to the ancient gates like a common peasant.

Not even the putrid stench of the brook below us could distract me from my enthusiasm; its banks lined with the filth, waste and excrement that was so prevalent in any populated municipality. We stopped before a fine-looking inn that boasted a colorful sign atop its entrance: the severed head of a pickled goat — the image inferring that the goat itself was drunk and merry.

My father's business would keep him occupied the rest of the day, so Elinor and I set off to explore the city alone — and by alone, I mean we were escorted by two male servants and Elinor's maid, Alice.