Belaset's Daughter - By Feona J Hamilton Page 0,108

actual medium stature. Her proud bearing and direct gaze showed that she felt no fear of her unexpected visitor.

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Belaset’s Daughter

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Have you come so soon for the poor man?" she said, indicating de Tourney’s corpse. "I have not finished preparing him. Your friend said it there would be someone at dusk, not before."

"Who are you?" said Jervis, ignoring her question.

"Some call me Green Gerda," said the woman, "and some the witch in the wood."

"So you are the wise woman?" said Jervis. "I have heard of Green Gerda, but never thought to meet her. You are not as I expected."

Green Gerda smiled.

"You thought to find an old hag, mumbling and chumbling as she stirred some noisome brew over a fire, perhaps?" she said.

Jervis burst out laughing.

"You have read my mind!" he said. "A wise woman indeed!"

"It is seldom difficult to read any man’s mind, young sir," she returned. "I know now though not from any mind-reading that you

have not been sent by anyone. Why

are you here?"

"I am seeking a follower of Sir Roger de Tourney, who is the man you have lying here,"

replied Jervis. "Will you tell me who brought him to you?"

"I do not know his name," said Gerda. "He was a fair young man, tall and well-built. He brought this Sir Roger, as you name him, to my hut and asked me to make him more fit to look upon. There was an arrow in his eye, and he was a fearful sight."

Jervis shuddered with the memory.

"Indeed he was a fearful sight," he said. "My stomach rose at the sight of him. . ."

Green Gerda drew in her breath, sharply, and stepped back from him.

"No, no!" said Jervis, shaking his head. "It was not I who killed him. I heard him cry out and found him lying on the path. I went to tell my lord and, when I returned as he had bade me, there was no body, and no sign that anything had happened."

He stopped. Why was he explaining himself to this woman? She had not asked him to, yet he found himself needing to tell her that he had done nothing wrong himself. She was but a wise woman, he told himself, an outcast from society. Despite this, he still found himself wanting her good opinion.

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Belaset’s Daughter

She was no longer agitated, he saw. Instead, she extended a hand to a stool beside the bench and said, "Sit." Unthinkingly, he obeyed. She bent over the corpse and drew the cloak around and over it, so that it now lay decently covered.

"Well," she said, straightening and gazing at him with an amused expression. "Will you drink a witch’s brew, young sir?"

She did not wait for his reply, but went across to a dark corner, where a small chest stood. Opening it, she drew out a bottle, which had been lying on its side. Taking a beaker from a shelf just above the chest, she came over to him and, drawing the stopper, poured some of the contents into the beaker. Handing it to him, she stood waiting for him to drink. Jervis was not going to show this woman that he felt any fear of her at all, so he raised the beaker to his lips and tossed down its contents.

He was pleasantly surprised. Cool, light elderflower wine flowed over his tongue and down his throat. His expression must have been comical, for, again, Green Gerda threw back her head and laughed.

"What did you think I was offering you?" she said. "Some potion to put you in my power, perhaps, or worse? Yet you would not show fear to a mere wise woman, would you?"

She chuckled with delight again and Jervis could not help grinning in response.

"Young man, you are brave if a little foolhardy," said Gerda.

"I was afraid," admitted Jervis, ruefully. "Yet part of me could not believe that you would wish me harm, when there was no reason."

He raised the beaker again and drank more of the cool liquid. It was more refreshing than any ale or small beer he had tasted, and settled the last queasy stirring in his system. He placed the empty beaker on the bench beside him, and gazed around more boldly.

"Who are you, then, if you are nothing to do with this poor man?" said Gerda, curiously.

Jervis sketched a mock bow.

"Jervis FitzHugh, squire to John de Warenne of Lewes," he said.

He saw a look of shocked surprise cross her face, but she quickly composed her features again into an