- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey

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CHAPTER NINETEEN:

Blood Spring

The wall of the garden was too high – there was no seeing over it, even while seated on the saddle. Tangled vines and bright green moss marred the surface. The air was fresh with the scent of grass and flowers growing within. Snorts from the stallion came between the churn of earth beneath its hooves, but the wind still threatened with the thunder of horses coming down Chalkwell Street. The orb directed them to the door of the garden – a tall door, bound with rusted iron. Locked.

Colvin slipped off the saddle and handed the reins up to Lia. There was a handle, and he pulled on it, but it did not open. He put his shoulder to it, but it did not give.

“There is a crossbar,” he muttered. Stepping back a pace, he stared up at the wall’s height. “We do not have much time. This is where the orb directed us?”

“Clearly,” she replied, anxious to get out of sight. The sound of hooves drew nearer. “The wall is tall, but I think we can make it over.”

“The horse is not going to climb, and we need it for our journey. I am not leaving it behind.”

“I did not suggest that,” she answered crossly. “Then lift me higher and I will raise the bar from the other side.”

He looked at her, his brow furrowing.

“I could probably reach it from the saddle. Here, guide the horse closer.” She offered him the reins back, and he took them, guiding the stallion up to the wall.

It stamped and snorted as Lia set foot on the saddle. She tucked the orb into the pouch dangling from her girdle and cinched it closed. Then carefully, she started to stand, struggling to keep her balance and using the wall to help keep from falling. Standing, she could see into the garden, which was divided into several areas with thick hedges, trees, and pools. Just beyond the wall, some wide stone steps led down, but she did not think the horse would have difficulty descending them. She had always enjoyed climbing trees.

“They are getting closer!” Colvin warned.

He steadied the horse and she planted her hands on the rough vines and then hoisted herself up. The ivy vines scratched at her as she swung her legs to the other side, twisted around on her belly, and then hung from her fingertips. She was grateful to land gracefully on the other side, and quickly raised the crossbar and pushed the door open. Yanking the tether, Colvin pulled the stallion after them, secured the door again, and then they both led it down the broad steps.

The sound of the sheriff’s men passed from the roadside, heading further away.

Colvin looked around, warily. “What is this place?”

“I have never been here,” she replied.

At the base of the stairs, the path was blocked by several hedges, but it opened up to a view of beautiful pools, flowerbeds, and shade trees. Ahead and above, the Tor rose up in its majesty, dominating the view.

“Which way?” Colvin asked.

Lia checked the orb and it pointed to another set of steps, leading up, across the garden.

Colvin rubbed his cheek and the bristles. “Where is the groundskeeper? Who lives here?”

“How am I supposed to know that? At least you have the sword. To think, all along, I thought it was his sword. Not yours. I feel such a fool. We go that way.”

The stallion managed the steps without trouble and they walked, looking at the sights. Birds with bright plumage went from tree to tree, looking at them quizzically. The pools and fountains were charming and secluded. As they reached the top of the steps, the path went two ways. The orb pointed to a thick maze of hedges, but across a short lawn there was a low stone wall with a Leering set into it in the shape of a lion’s head.

“A well,” Colvin said, tugging the stallion. “Let us water the horse and ourselves. This is a maston’s garden. Even the hedges are shaped with our emblem.” She had not noticed it until he pointed it out – the eight-pointed star in the stone and hedges.

He led the way to the Leering which overlooked a stone trough. The stone was mottled in color but dry of water. A gentle rush filled the air, making Lia shiver, and the lion’s mouth began to gush water and fill the basin. The water was clear, but had a pinkish blush coloring it. Colvin led the stallion to the other side and it dropped its head into the pool and began to drink. Holding his hands to the stream, Colvin washed them clean and then cupped some water into his mouth several times.

“It has a metal taste,” he said. “Strange. It is not offensive though. Drink while we still have fresh water.”

Lia joined him and also washed her hands. She tasted it – the waters were a little sour with the hint of metal. The stone beneath the Leering had worn away from the constant lapping of the waters, brownish red in color. The water was cold, almost icy, so she thought about warmth as she did at the laundry at Muirwood, and suddenly the water came out gushing with steam. She bathed her arms in the stinging waters, when the flow stopped suddenly.