Bonfires
807 Words
Bonfires~
Nigel Willoughby
Jorendon
Nigel turned at the first clink of armor. A hush crept over the crowd. Dancers stopped their spinning. Fiddlers lowered their bows. Mothers gathered up their children.
The Beacon strode out onto the terrace, glowering out across the courtyard like an archangel of retribution. White-cloaked guards flanked him, shields emblazoned with golden lions, and spears snapped to attention.
Taw approached with Tavish at his back. Twenty and more men fell in behind them. Nigel maneuvered closer to the terrace for unobstructed aim, should intervention become warranted.
“Beacon,” Taw acknowledged him. “This is an unexpected…honor. Would you care to explain why you brought armed guards to my home?”
“Matters of the Church, Delegate Taw.” Deighton lifted his chin in righteous condemnation. “Two from the Blessed Fellowship betrayed the faith tonight.”
Rhynns closed in along the steps, their answer the whisper of steel brushing scabbards. Shoulder to shoulder and with no need for spoken command, they guarded their own.
“Gregor! Griffith!” Deighton cried out. “I am sorrowed to find you condoning unholy rites on this, the Eve of Purity.”
Peder Griffith shouldered through the Rhynns. Bishop Gregor joined him before the Beacon. Muscles twitched in their weathered jaws.
“Your Holiness,” said Peder. “We are celebrating the birthday of the honorable Delegate Taw. Explain to me how that is unholy.”
“I am not naive,” said Deighton. “The bonfire might blind you, but I see the heathenry in its shadows. I hear sinners chanting spells and praying to false gods.”
“There’s no praying.” Bakari’s precocious daughter sauntered up with a fist on her hip. “We throw Papa’s salt in the fire and make a wish. Take a shell and see.”
Nigel regretted not learning this little firebrand’s name before.
“If you found a pretty girl to dance with, you might frown less,” she said.
Hoots and whistles filled the courtyard. Fury colored Deighton’s face. Nigel braced his boot on the lower rail of the balustrade as he reassessed the board.
“A child!” Deighton pointed a long finger. “Do you hear how you corrupted an innocent child?”
Bakari elbowed his way through the guards. He scooped up his daughter carried her away from the Beacon’s scrutiny. The crowd murmured. Deighton simmered. A log on the bonfire popped and sent ruby sparks fleeing skyward.
“King Walter grants me the authority to sentence you for this sacrilege. Bishops, your fascination with fire may prove your undoing.”
Nigel tensed to intervene, but the Rhi’Aleron was on the terrace first.
“You are threatening my clansman.” Tavish’s eyes narrowed in warning.
Nigel made a quick tally of white cloaks. No Rhynn traveled beyond his own bedchamber unarmed. Deighton’s guards were outnumbered by far. He wasn’t the only one counting.
“With the mercy God demands, I grant you this one indulgence,” said Deighton. “But be warned, I will tolerate no more heathenry in my city.”
“Your city?” said Tavish.
“God’s city,” Deighton amended.
“Getting hard to tell the difference, Beacon?” said Tavish.
“I thought Jorendon belonged to the king,” said Taw.
Nigel eased back from the balustrade. If Deighton had a shred of sense, he’d leave now, while he still had a sliver of dignity intact. Yet Deighton lingered, surrounded by Rhynns and friends of Rhynns. If he came to ruffle feathers, he’d accomplished that. The longer he stayed, the more he risked.
“The people of Jorendon are the king’s to rule. The souls of Jorendon are mine to shepherd. Our city needs only one fire.” Deighton raised his arms to the night sky. “He who has eyes, let him see. Tonight I light the fire of purity! Tonight the lash of righteousness falls upon the wicked.”
Deighton singled Nigel out in the crowd and fixed him with a contemptuous stare.
“Tonight, adulterous w****s fall to their knees weeping, flogged for their iniquity.”
The worst kept secret in Jorendon. Nigel’s blood ran cold. A hundred eyes watched him. Don’t give it away. So many have worked for so long. Discipline summoned control. Nigel focused on the image of a frozen lake.
“He who has ears, let him hear,” Deighton raved on. “Hear the sinners cry out. Hear the crackle of a filthy brothel burning. This Midwinter, the fire of purity is the brightest fire in Innis!”
Flogged. Burned. A white-hot geyser burst through the frozen lake. The ice cracked into a thousand shards. When he spoke, it was with the authority of one who existed long before Lord Nigel Willoughby.
“Brunet, a horse.”
“Mattean, saddle my roan,” said Taw.
Nigel vaulted over the balustrade and strode up to Deighton. His fingers flexed. He saw the precise spot to drive his thumbs through the coward’s windpipe. The warning he delivered was for Deighton’s ears alone.
“If I find one hair on her head singed, I will come for you myself.”
The Beacon paled as he realized his miscalculation. Nigel left him dumbfounded.
“Burning brothels? Flogging? On what authority?” Cleland erupted in a full-blown rage. “You c****d-up weasel. Enforcing the law is my job. And w*****g’s legal, last time I checked.”
“The king’s treasury will not be held accountable for your theatrics.” Langdon’s shouts joined in. “The Church will pay reparations.”
Mattean led his grandfather’s roan from the stable. Nigel swung to the saddle and dug in his heels. Brunet opened the gate and tossed up a sword as he passed.
Nigel raced out into the night.
Lucinda.
Chapter 47
- Writer
