Free [Fools' Guild 08] - The Parisian Prodigal by Alan Gordon Page B

said.
    “If you take him, will he come to justice?” she asked.
    “I take him now, but after that, higher forces take over,” he said. “I cannot say if justice will be one of them.”
    “Then send for the bade,” she said. “I will not have mere mercenaries tell me what to do. I want the count’s man here.”
    “The baile’s jurisdiction ends at the town walls, Abbess,” said Sancho. “Outside the walls, I am the count.”
    He released her. The other soldier was still staring at the dead woman.
    The Abbess strode angrily to the bed and flung the coverlet back over her. La Rossa now looked as if she slept. The Abbess gently caressed her hair, then turned back to us. “I will have justice for her,” she said defiantly. “Even a whore is entitled to that.”
    “You get what you pay for,” said Sancho. “You, of all people, should know that. And we will start by paying for your silence.”
    “What?” she said, her color rising.
    Sancho removed a purse from his waist. It was heavier than I expected. He removed several silver coins and held them up.
    “This would be a year’s earnings for her,” he said. “Allowing for Sundays off. You do go to church on Sundays, do you not?”
    “You think that you can buy me?” she asked coldly.
    He sighed, tossed the coins onto the bed, then suddenly rushed at her, his sword in his hand. He shoved her against the wall, his forearm at her throat, and held the blade against her cheek. “Listen to me, Domina Abbess,” he said softly.
    “This stays quiet, and you play along. If you can’t play nicely, then I will take you out of this particular game for good. I will have regrets, but I have a large pile of them already. Do I make myself understood?”
    She was still for a moment, then nodded. He released her, then picked the coins up from the deathbed. He placed them in her unwilling hand and closed it around them.
    “The squad’s here,” said the other soldier, glancing out the window.
    “Good,” said Sancho. “Take him to the count’s dungeon. Same one he was in before. Not a word gets out.”
    “What about her?” asked the other soldier, nodding at La Rossa.
    “We bury her,” said the Abbess in a small voice. “We bury our own.”
    Sancho pulled one more coin out of his pouch and flipped it to her. “For the funeral,” he said. “I can’t get her to Heaven. Just make sure she gets to the church.” He grabbed Baudoin and hauled him to his feet. “Hands behind your back,” he ordered in langue d’oïl.
    The Parisian complied, and Sancho bound his wrists.
    “Let’s go,” said Sancho, and we followed him as he guided Baudoin down the steps.
    “Wait,” he commanded.
    He took a large cloth from his pack, threw it over Baudoin’s head, and secured it.
    “Rather not have people know who our prisoner is,” he said.
    “Thank you for that courtesy,” said Baudoin.
    “I’m not doing it for you,” said Sancho. “And shut up.”
    He took him outside, where the squad was waiting.
    “Half of you with me,” said Sancho. “We escort the prisoner to the dungeon, and not a peep out of you. Take him by the outside route. The fewer people see us, the better. The rest of you stay here. No one goes in or out of that bordel.” The soldiers assigned to the bordel looked at it like ravenous dogs at a pile of steaks.
    “And none of you goes inside,” added Sancho.
    The men gave a collective groan.
    “I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over thither,” I muttered.
    “What’s that?” asked Sancho
    “Deuteronomy, chapter thirty-four, verse four,” I said. “Moses saw the promised land, but was not allowed to enter it.”
    “Poor Moses,” said Sancho. “You better come, too. We’ll have some explaining to do.”
    “I’m just a humble tutor of languages,” I said as the squad began marching Baudoin along the walls. “Something you apparently don’t need, my humble soldier.”
    “You noticed that, did you?”