Chapter 4: The Unknown
At first light, shrouded in the worn brown robes, they scurried like house mice through the empty tavern below the inn. Merchants were beginning to set out their wares for the day, and they weaved around carts and early risen townspeople. Joseph held firm to Belle's waist through the thick robe. Her strength was returning if only by a snail's pace.
From the shadows of the hood, Joseph flicked his eyes from each side of the road searching for a vender who specialized in clothing. To his dismay, there were none, only a booth selling practical hand-woven scarves and stockings. There were few colors to choose from, but a deep blue scarf caught Joseph's eye and he purchased it along with a pair of thick grey stockings. If he could not dress Lady Belle in unsoiled clothing, he could at least keep her warm and covered from prying eyes.
Joseph had hoped to purchase a horse to speed up their pace to travel as far from the Marchlands as they could, but after many ponderings on the thought, he knew it was not for the best. He did not know how to ride. Lady Belle, however, did, but in her condition, it was best to keep her fragile state from being jarred by the bounce of horseback on an unstable path.
They scurried from the village much as they did the tavern, crouched, making themselves as small and inconspicuous as possible. They were from the village not twenty minutes when a cart rolled by. They paid no mind to the man sitting atop the pony trap until he called to them, offering a ride in the back of his hay wagon. Joseph hesitated for an answer, wary of trusting anyone, but Lady Belle squeezed his hand and he took her lead.
The next village was several miles down the road, and to Joseph's relief it was rather nice to be carried instead. The hay made for a comfortable seat and the jostling of the wagon was mild. Belle pulled her hood back and in the glowing morning light, Joseph could see her health returning. Her face was not as pale, the redness in her eyes fading. Though the wounds on her back still pained her, she was becoming more herself the farther they distanced themselves from the treacherous place that caused her anguish.
Joseph lay back in the hay, closing his eyes as narrow beams of sunlight cut across his face through the leafy branches of the trees. The warmth and feel of nature was freeing, much more appealing than the drafty corridors of the monastery. In this moment, this was the first time he did not regret leaving the place he called home for over half his life. For Lady Belle, he did not regret leaving, but for himself, he did…until now.
Strains of hair tickled his cheek and he felt the weight of a head upon his shoulder. Joseph opened his eyes to see Belle settle beside him using his shoulder as a pillow. How he had spoiled her! But this brave girl deserved every bit of comfort the world could offer and if he could only offer his shoulder to her then he'd gladly bestow it. He raised her up slightly, slipping an arm underneath to encircle around her.
He had not known the touch of another for so long, not since his mother died. The life of a cleric was sterile and isolated. He'd chosen the life because of his mother. He was the youngest of six children. His mother feared he'd not find a trade apart from his three brothers. She loyally followed the beliefs of their people, and Joseph followed his mother's lead. It was not until after she died that he truly saw what went on behind the closed doors of the monastery, but by then it was too late to carve a new path in his life. The bottle became his friend, his way of escaping the hidden treachery surrounding him.
He did not stray from his sworn duty to help others. When the ogre wars began, Joseph was there at the soldier camps tending to wounded and giving encouragement to any who would listen. It warmed his heart to overflowing when Lady Belle visited the camps. Outwardly, she did not fear the war. She helped alongside him tending to the wounded, never losing her grip on the raw shock that he knew was flowing inside her just as it flowed inside of him.
He very much enjoyed her head upon his shoulder, her slim body pressed against him. Joseph drifted off to sleep, peaceful and contented.
The jolt of the wagon coming to a halt stirred Joseph from his well-needed slumber. He blinked, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes, and glanced at the mass of disheveled hair to his left. Lady Belle still slept. He hated to wake her, but the wagon-owner was informing them they had arrived at the next village.
Gently he removed the numb arm from around her and rubbed her forearm until she awoke. This village was farther than he'd ever traveled in his entire life, and that fact spun his stomach into impossible knots. They found a little clearing in the forest to eat their meager provisions. Behind a tree, Lady Belle changed into the grey stockings, replacing the dirty stockings she been wearing over those, and wrapped the scarf about her head and neck. With that, they were ready to travel again.
Joseph knew the highway was not a place they should be, but they continued on until a poster caught his eye and Joseph whimpered in utter fear at the faces staring back on it.
"They're searching for us" he hissed, ripping the poster from where it was nailed on a tree.
"This is outrageous" Belle choked out, a hand covering her mouth as her eyes became moist. "Why would my father allow this to happen? Allow any of it to happen?"
Joseph shook his head, miserably. "I don't know, Lady. The clerics must have an iron grip on him, more so than what I knew them capable of having." He ripped the poster to shreds, depositing the bits of parchment paper into a thick bush. Maybe a squirrel or a mouse would make better use of it. "We must keep to the forest, far from roads, and only venture into a village when necessary."
He turned to Lady Belle and his heart clinched at the tears making streaks in the dust and grim on her cheeks. She deserved so much more than what this life had dealt her. A safe home – a castle if Joseph had his way – where she would be taken care of and never want for anything. In two steps he was there, pulling her to him as she sobbed into his chest, the palm of his hand cupping her hair.
They made off for the next village - as fast as their exhausted bodies could carry them - bypassing it and trying to stay in the shadows of the trees. Lady Belle clung to his hand, barely letting go as they trekked on and on into the unknown. She needed him; depended on him; looked to him for comfort and protection, but Joseph's mind was a whirl of pure terror at the very thought.
He'd never experienced the responsibly of taking care of another. His mother and older siblings always cared for him, and when he entered the holy order, all was provided for him there. The only trade he was familiar in was bookbinding – having helped the monks of the monastery from time to time, but he did not know how much it paid and he'd have to start as an apprentice. How would he support himself and Lady Belle?
Another thought crossed his mind – what if she did not wish to stay with him? They were not husband and wife, or even lovers. The idea of Lady Belle falling in love with him was ridiculous by far. Youth was on her side, and besides, she could never look at him as anything but Father Joseph, and that fact bothered him more than what he knew it should. That's who he had been to her for her whole life: the kindly pastor who listened to her read books in the courtyard of the monastery and wore flower circlets she made for him every festival.
They needed to discuss the future…soon but not today. They were still on the run for their lives and whether they'd set up house or not wasn't important at the moment, not when there was a price on their heads.
Against his better judgment, they scuttered into a fairly small village that night. They'd not spotted any wanted posters along the way or anywhere in the village, so Joseph felt it safe enough to stay the night. The inn only consisted of 4 rooms, which were all vacant and the innkeeper was glad to take their coins. He put Belle to sleep, lying with her as always, combing her hair unconsciously until she drifted off.
The thoughts that had consumed his mind nearly the entire day were becoming too much to bare. His flask empty and his mind too fired up to sleep, Joseph found himself the only occupant in the tiny tavern attached to the inn.
He needed to forget. Just for one night, he needed to forget everything. He knew not how long he'd sat there gulping down mug after mug of watered down ail, but he drank so much that it finally blurred everything around him. A warm, cozy fuzz enveloped him, something he hadn't felt in a long time, but after a few more mugs, his head began to swim. The barkeep told him to go back to his room, and stumbling quite a few times on the way up, Joseph unlocked the door and shut it loudly.
"Father?" Belle's panicked voice rang through the darkness.
"My Lady" he slurred, trying but failing to take careful steps in the dark. He kicked the bedpost, hissing a curse. A hand grasped his arm, and Joseph was being pulled onto the bed.
"Are-are you all right?" Belle sounded uncertain, and in the haze of his mind, he was sure she could smell the ail on him.
A beat of silence fell between them before Joseph growled and asked, "What is to become of us, Lady?" Belle found his hand, squeezing it reassuringly, but he needed so much more than that as reassurance. "If we ever make it to safety, what are we to do? How are we to live?"
"Oh, Father" she crooned, but that was not what he wanted to hear.
Joseph jumped to his feet. "I am no holy man, no more! That life is over!" he snarled, stomping a foot loudly on the wooden floor. He heard Belle shift, and his heart sank as he realized he possibly frightened her. Joseph sank to his knees, pawing at the blanket, trying to find any part of Lady Belle to grasp. "I'm sorry, Lady Belle. Please forgive me."
Her breathing was the only sound until she shifted again, her hand petting his head. "If you are no holy man then I am no longer a noble lady."
"No" he sobbed, clutching at her skirts. "You will always be a Noble Lady, as I will always be a sorry excuse for a man."
"Joseph" she breathed, taking his face in both her hands. He wished he could see her, peer into those pure blue eyes that he had once gazed upon so innocently, but now- "Cleric or not, you are a wonderful man."
She pulled him onto the bed once more, making a cozy nest of the pillows and each other. This night she would hold him; stroke his hair soothingly; chase away all the fears of the unknown.