The Sword of Aradel Read Free Page B

did,” Brother Benedict went on, “you upset many plans, and set something in motion. But there isn’t time to explain it to you here. You must be well on your way before Albericus decides you must have escaped from the abbey. He’ll surely send men after you—but do not worry about them. Merra will hide you well.”
    â€œMerra? Who—where—”
    â€œIn the forest, son, a full three leagues downstream from the Roman crossing, there flows a crystal spring from the foot of a mighty oak. It is a sacred spot, and something in you will know it when you see it. You will find Merra waiting for you there.”
    â€œI—I don’t understand,” Brian said. “How can anyone possibly know I’m coming?”
    â€œShe will know. On your way now—and may the merciful God protect you!”
    Brian experienced a frightening minute as he waded the moat on the submerged planks. He was exposed to anyone who might have gone to the top of the wall to search, and with every step he almost expected to hear the snap of a bowstring and the quick hiss of an arrow. Yet he dared not hurry, for the planks were so slippery he could only slide along a foot or two at a time while he carried the sword carefully over his shoulder.
    Then at last he was across, with the thick growth of willows on the embankment hiding him from any chance observer. When he glanced back he was relieved to see no one, nor could he make out the opening to the secret passageway.
    As he hurried along the edge of the field behind the embankment, he was astonished to see the sun rising above the line of forest ahead. It seemed that hours must have passed since he had first heard the trumpets. How could so much have happened in the short space between dawn and sunup?
    Before the sun was a hand’s breadth high, he had gained the Roman crossing—a stone bridge built by Caesar’s men—and was beginning to pick his way through the tangle along the edge of the stream.
    Three leagues downstream, Brother Benedict had said. That was a long, long hike, and he would do well to make it by midday. But why, he wondered, would anyone want to live in so remote a spot? As nearly as he could remember from a map Brother Benedict had at the smithy, that section of the stream was entirely wild, far from any road or village. A few old trails had been dotted on the map, along with a scattering of symbols showing the location of several ruins and a chapel.
    Suddenly Brian halted, thinking of those symbols. A cross had marked the location of an early chapel, but there had been another cross deep in the forest just about three leagues from the Roman crossing. Only the second cross, unlike the first, had a circle behind it. What did that mean?
    And who was Merra?
    Puzzled, he hurried on, swinging the sword occasionally to clear a way through the growth. It seemed that he should know the answers to both questions. And there was that curious matter of the person who had shouted to him right after he’d downed Rupert. Had it been Brother Benedict who had shouted, using a strange language so that no one who had come with Albericus would recognize either the voice or the words?
    Then why had he, Brian, son of Harle the woodcutter, understood the words when he didn’t even recognize the language?
    At that moment a horrible thought came to him. Did he, without realizing it, know the forbidden language? The language that meant death if you were caught using it? It was supposed to be the tongue of the witches, although heretics used it also. The penalty for speaking it—just like the penalty for being caught with a Bible, which was also forbidden—was death by burning.
    He had never seen a real Bible, and he had once asked Brother Benedict why it was forbidden. The burly blacksmith had peered around carefully, then said in a low voice, “Watch your tongue on that subject, lad. Now, to boil it all down, it’s just a