Read Online The Rose of Provence by Susanna Lehner - Free Book Online

Avignon where they are going to
throw her onto a burning pile in front of the Palais des Papes,”
sniffled the princess in a dying voice. “They want to create a
precedent with her.”
    “ They are looking for witnesses? The cunning hog!” hissed
Morgan. “This time he wants to play a sure game…”
    “ I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
    “ Catherine, you have to know something,” said the earl, and
lead the princess to the armchair, because he thought it would be
better if she sits down. “Amrita is really a witch, so they can
find people in Arles, who will confirm the Doctor’s
statement.”
    “ A witch? That is impossible…” Catherine felt dizzy, and she
would have definitely collapsed, if Morgan was not so
careful.
    “ Calm down! As there are good and bad people, some of the
witches are helpful, the others are harmful. I think I don’t have
to state which side Amrita is on.”
    “ But if she cannot grow old, then she is not mortal either, is
she?” Catherine asked trustingly.
    “ Her soul is immortal and nothing can consume her body but
fire…”
    “ Then…”
    “ Yes, she is going to die on the pile,” Morgan bowed his
head.
    “ Of course, not forever, but who knows when she can
reincarnate again.”
    “ Save her, please, and bring her back!”
    “ I’m afraid that is impossible. I mean, perhaps I can save
her, but you can never see her again. If Amrita stays alive, she
has to start a new life in a faraway land.”
    “ I don’t mind, just save her!” The princess sprang up and
pushed Morgan towards the door, who also thought that it is time to
leave.
    With relay horses, without rest, he galloped to Arles where
he arrived on the following day at five o’clock in the morning.
Only the third innkeeper, roused from sleep, could provide
information, and he said something which the earl did not like.
According to the news, the red-haired witch from Paris was taken to
Avignon the previous evening, to place her on a pile and burn her
at six o’clock in the morning.
    Morgan spurred towards the former papal residence. He knew
that every minute would count.
    A few minutes before six o’clock, he arrived at the square in
front of the Palais des Papes, where a huge crowd had already
gathered to see the witch pay for her dark practices. Morgan,
looking over the hustling crowd, saw the pile standing in the
middle of the square, which was still empty. From there, he could
only continue his way on foot, so he threw himself into a whirl
and, without selecting, he pushed aside the people who got into his
way. He should have hacked his way through about thirty mortals
when the mob started to scream mindlessly. The earl stopped and
lifted up his head: he had to see the marauders dragging Amrita up
on the pile, and then tying her hands and legs to the thick
pillar.
    He knew he was too late.
    Of course, it would have been only an instant of work for him
to get on the top of the pile, wring the neck of the guards with a
single movement, and finally, by tearing away Amrita’s cords, take
her in his arms and run away with her. He will tear out the heart
of those who would stand in his way with one hand. But he was also
aware that there are too many bystanders here, and he cannot kill
everybody. Obviously, he cannot disclose his real self, and what he
is able to do.
    At that moment, they set the pile on fire with a
torch.
    Morgan slowly set out towards the girl, while the flames were
snatching at the edge of the rusty skirt more and more ravenously.
When he got to the foot of the pile, Amrita also noticed him, and
their eyes interlocked for a timeless moment. He did not detect
reproach in the emerald eyes because he was late, but he knew that
the self-accusation will torture him for a long time.
    The smoke crawled up on her dress, and pushed her into
unconsciousness before the merciless flames could wrap around her
body. Morgan was unable to see this. He felt sorry for Amrita, but
also for