Children of the Fountain Read Online Free Page A

to the outskirts.
    Matthias, who had been silent all the way, had no real recollection of the journey. Walking into the village inn, which was busy serving up breakfast to hungry travellers, he barely noticed a hunched figure sat in the corner turn to look as he took a seat next to the fire. As the Spaniard ordered some ale and meats the figure raised a hooded head.
    “Matthias?”
    He barely registered the noise; staring into the flames as they licked greedily at fresh logs, his thoughts were only of Rebecca.
    “Matthias?” The figure had stood up now and was lurching toward him, with one arm outstretched.
    Finally, registering his name, he looked up and gasped. The devil from the abbey? He recoiled as the figure stepped forward to the table, reaching out. In a blur of movement Alonso had upended the table, a sword held to the man’s throat. The inn fell into silence and Alonso pulled back the cowl covering the man’s face. It was Father James.
    “Alonso, it’s me!” said the monk. The mystic stepped back, sheathing his sword.
    “My apologies father,” said the Spaniard.
    “What are you doing here? What is going on?”
    Father James sat down next to Matthias. For the first time he noticed his own skin was black and his clothes torn and bloodied.
    “What has happened?” said the monk.
    Slowly, and not leaving out any detail, Matthias told him. At the part of the story were Rebecca had been killed he broke down and Father James had to hold him, tears dripping from his own cheeks.
    The two of them sat alone for several minutes and it was a long time before Alonso finally spoke.
    “Tonight you will stay here,” he said, “I will go to fetch assistance. For now, to your rooms and pray rest.”
    As the giant man stood up he ducked his head beneath an oak beam attracting the looks of several surprised farmers. He walked to the bar, spoke briefly with the landlord and then walked over to Matthias and Father James.
    “Who are you?” said Matthias, “and how do you know Father James?”
    “I serve the duke,” said Alonso.
    The monk placed an arm around Matthias and held him; it didn’t occur to him to ask who the duke was. The two went up to a room above the stables, but of course no rest came for either of them. Matthias lay on one of the beds whilst Father James sat at the window waiting for daylight.
    The sheets were soft and thick and he pulled them tight around him. He closed his eyes but could still see the burning abbey and then, through the fires, Rebecca’s eyes staring back from an inferno.
    For many hours Matthias tried to sleep. Time after time he felt his eyelids close but each time he woke with a start. On one such occasion he felt the cold hand of Father James on his forehead.
    “Who was that man, Father?”
    “Alonso is an acquaintance of mine from many years ago. We…lost touch it would be fair to say.”
    “He said he was looking for me. Who is he?”
    “We’ll talk later. For now, try to sleep.”
    The hand stroked his forehead, moving a lock of hair across tenderly. Tiredness finally overcame him and he must have fallen asleep as when he next opened his eyes it was dark. The evening had come and with it news, in the form of a maid telling them they were wanted downstairs. They made their way back to the bar room where Alonso was waiting; he gestured to some seats at a table with food. They sat down but neither ate and Alonso informed them that a Mr Hardy was just outside saddling his horse.
    The door opened and cold evening air flooded in. The gentleman entered wrapped in a travelling cloak and he was followed by two other men; both armed with swords and dressed in plain black livery.
    He sat himself down opposite them whilst the two men remained at the door. He was a handsome man; in his forties perhaps. A big black moustache drew the onlooker’s attention to the centre of a strong face. His smile was warm and genuine and he immediately made Matthias feel at ease.
    Father James looked