Marian turns Spy
Marian moved as stealthily as she could towards the house of the Captain Of The Guards. Earlier that day, she had tended his son, and for all her efforts did not expect him to live the night. As a precaution, she had brought her bronze dagger, it was tucked into her girdle. She did not fear Violence. More fearful was she of the thin sallow face of the ten year old child. who was even now dying of the unknown scourge. The death of a child touches all who witness it, from the bravest warrior to the eldest man who thinks himself acquainted with death. Now she was at the window of the sick room, where the boy's mother tended him with tears.
The boy had no energy to cry, all that could be heard was a harsh breathing, and the low sobs of the mother. Soon they subsided. The woman, drained with emotion, feel asleep with her head touching that of her child.
Marian felt a tear escape her own eye. She wondered how God could allow such sadness to afflict her country.
The boy's breathing became even more laboured, the end was near, but he seemed distressed by something else…Marian followed his gaze across the shabby room, and saw what she had come to see. The Black Monk was approaching.
Marian felt her heart beating so rapidly and loud she was sure it would betray her. She had never been so close to one of them before, and had not expected the Monk's appearance to frighten her so. The Holy Brothers she had met before all carried an aura of peace about them, but this one did not. It made her think of an executioner, with its dark hood and the solemn yet purposeful way in which it closed in on the sick child.
The boy's breathing increased to fever pitch, and yet the mother did not wake. Marian felt she had to do something, anything, to warn the mother, but she was rooted to the spot, unable to move, just as Robin had felt himself immobilized in the tree.
The boy's face was set in a rictus of horror as he summoned up the strength to cry "no, no!"
The Black Monk reached for him – and seized the back of his neck, lifting the little head from the pillow, and then, the monk bent down, its hood enveloping the boy's face, locking them both in some terrible embrace. The boy's arms jerked but once, and fell down to the mattress. The boy was dead.
Marian felt faint with shock, but she was hardier than most females. Her fists was fixed against the wall beside the window she looked through, steadying her in case she fell.
The Monk turned its attention to the sleeping Mother. Now Marian knew why the mother slept so heavily. The Monk had been to her too, but her share of the Plague was not visible yet. Perhaps this latest visit of the Monk would render her as weak as her son, perhaps not. Marian understood now, how they worked, only taking a little sustenance at a time lest their true intentions be discovered.
"I must find someone to help," she thought. "It must be a priest or holy man…if they will see the truth in my words."
She dared not look into the window again, lest she be struck helpless again. She made haste to the castle, and resolved to see the priest first thing in the morning.