A Conspiracy of Kings by M J Porter
Author:M J Porter [Porter, M J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-17T22:00:00+00:00
Chapter 11
At some point, and despite it all, I fall asleep.
My eyes flutter open in shock when Iâm unceremoniously lowered to my feet. My legs are untied, even my hands at my back allowed their freedom. I grimace. My legs tingle painfully, and because the sack is still over my head, Iâve no idea where I am.
Neither is there any sound, only hands on my back, guiding me forward. I expect to hear the harsh rasp of the man who brought me here and the more refined voice of the suspected ealdorman, but instead, thereâs only silence. Feet seem to glide over the ground beneath me, but again, thereâs no sound.
Where am I?
The same hands escort me to a seat, pressing me down by my shoulders. I sit, even though Iâve only just stood, washing my hands one inside the other, as the feeling is slowly restored to them. I imagine, when I see them, that theyâll be bloodied, bruised and red raw.
And then I feel the sack lifted from my head, and I blink in the light from a hearth, and a series of candles, and only then is the gag removed from my mouth.
I cough. Well, really, I choke. My tongue is drier than the summer-baked ground, and immediately a wooden beaker is pressed into my hand, filled with water. My eyes have been covered for so long, they cry in even the dim light, and I blink, and drink, and try and work out whatâs happened.
As soon as the beaker is empty, itâs taken from me and hastily refilled. Only then do I feel able to speak.
âWhere am I?â I ask, turning to finally see who tends to me.
In all honesty, Iâm unsurprised when I meet the eyes of a woman. A simple gown of dark wool covers her stick-thin figure, a wimple over her hair. But itâs the wooden cross around her neck that confirms my suspicions.
Iâm in a nunnery.
âWhere am I?â I ask again, but the nun shakes her head, a finger held to her lips in the age-old sign for silence, and my heart sinks.
Itâs a nunnery, and worse, itâs an establishment that embraces silence for the holy women.
I make to stand, gathering myself up, thinking to walk away from the nun, but her hands rest on my shoulder, and the surprising strength forces me back to the stool. Only then does she lift a hand clear from my shoulders and use it to indicate that I should turn around.
The smell of cooked meat reaches my nostrils, and my stomach rumbles loudly. Iâve no idea how much timeâs passed or when I last ate. Surely no more than a day, and hopefully much less.
The instruction is easy enough to understand, but I donât want to eat. I want to find who abducted me, and who brought me here, and I want to get back to Mercia.
Shrugging off the hand, I stand quickly, my legs unsteady, keen to make my way through the door, and then hopefully to where I can find a horse and get home.
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