Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four)

by Roberta Gellis

  By the time the cargo was unloaded, those who had warned the castle rewarded with a suitable share, and the remainder carried up to Tarring, the captain and crew of the vessel were disposed of in a cell in the lowest level of the keep. Then a new captain and crew had to be found for the ship so that it could be sailed away to Roselynde harbor, where it could be concealed or refitted for use. The townspeople had to be warned what to say if inquiries were made. When all this was accomplished, Gilliane found she had missed dinner and was so tired that she did not care. She crept into bed, sure she would be asleep as soon as her eyes closed. Instead, she remembered it was the end of the seventh day and Adam had still not returned.

  In that instant, she was wide awake. Fear pricked her, but not harshly. Alberic was not worried and Gilliane knew her ignorant terrors were senseless in the face of his informed experience. But where could Adam be? What could he be doing? Alberic said he would take whatever advantage he could to harass Louis’s men. Did that mean Adam would try to take a keep? No, that was silly. Gilliane knew better than that now. A man did not attack a castle with less than one hundred men. But that was the only thing Gilliane could think of that would take many days, except… Adam must have a woman—many women. Gilliane knew from her maids that he had slept strictly alone all the time he had been at Tarring. Perhaps he had taken a whore on the days he had ridden out, but a man like Adam would not be content with those filthy creatures.

  That must be it! No wonder Alberic was amused at her anxiety and not at all worried himself. Adam must have gone to his woman. Naturally, he would not be satisfied with a hasty few hours. Doubtless he would spend some days making up for his past abstinence. Gilliane ground her pretty teeth and wished every disfiguring and loathsome disease that existed would strike whatever woman Adam was holding in his arms. She passed from rage to envy, imagining his big, clean-limbed body stretched in her bed, thinking of how he could be wakened with kisses, of his response. She wept with remorse at having let him go out of Tarring unsatisfied and ripe for any woman. Since she would never be able to marry him anyway, why had she been such a fool as to deny him? Now he would return sated and indifferent, his mind and his eyes full of another woman.

  How could she have been such a fool! Surely there was something she could do. Somehow she must make him come back. More important was how to hold Adam once he came, fresh from the arms of some exquisite whore skilled in the ways of love and gowned and jeweled in the latest fashion. It was obvious that Adam found her attractive, Gilliane thought, but he was hungry for any woman then. Now she would need to compete with his memory of an elegant lady. How could she compete with two or three simple gowns of common cloth without any adornment beyond her seashell cross? Even as the question entered her mind, Gilliane remembered the cargo of the French ship. A short struggle with her conscience—Gilliane had assumed that the cargo would go to defray part of Tarring’s debt to Adam—ended when she suddenly thought that Adam might use the beautiful fabrics as a gift for his mistress. It was soothing to imagine his irritation when he heard of the usage of the cloth melting into appreciation after he saw Gilliane in the pretty gowns she would devise.

  Imagination is often a far stretch from reality, but it was seldom further afield from the truth than on that night. Had the men holding the lances been belted knights, Adam would have been dead. The men-at-arms, however, were not trained with the same care and intensity and did not use that weapon with much nicety. In addition, the short distance between the parties when they became aware of each other and Adam’s immediate charge toward his opponents prevented the men from developing any real speed. He was thus able to catch two of the spears on his shield and thrust them away. Another he beat aside with his sword. That defensive gesture, however, opened his right side, and the fourth lance struck him midway between armpit and waist. A twist and wince sideways saved Adam from being spitted, and his armor, the very best double-linked mail, held, except for one ring that burst and another that spread sideways. The tip of the lance caught his skin. Adam leaned away further and brought his sword down in a backstroke that beat the spear aside.

  Behind him he heard a shriek and knew one of his men had not been as fortunate as he. Wrenching his horse around, he pursued the closest of the lance-wielders, struck him down from behind, started after another. Meanwhile, the main body of the men from Knepp castle had come up. Adam bellowed his false battle cry, urging his men to greater effort.

  The ground on which the parties had first come together was open, a grazed-over field near a track leading down to a farm. Striking and thrusting, Adam drew his troop after him across the field to a darker darkness that indicated a wooded area. When they reached this, Adam remained on the periphery, permitting his men to pass between himself and two or three other superior fighters, holding back the Knepp castle men. To speak the truth, the labor was less hard than it could have been. Few of them were anxious to come within reach of Adam’s long arm or his gray Fury’s flashing hooves. When Cuthbert finally came abreast of his master and the six who had been charging back and forth along the periphery of the wood to prevent pursuit, all of them melted back between the trees as swiftly as possible.

  They were not followed immediately. Each man hesitated to plunge into the greater darkness ahead, which might hold the bellowing giant leader of that pack of thieves. Adam’s men, naturally, had no such reservations and rode ahead as quickly as they could.

  Haste was more important than silence. There was no doubt in any man’s mind that the troop they had fought would not give up the chase this easily. There had been wounded on both sides, but the men from Knepp castle could send their wounded back to give news of what they had found and to ask for advice and reinforcements. They might or might not choose to engage again; they could simply follow until reinforce­ments came from the castle. Sooner or later Adam and his men would be overtaken by a far superior force. However, the farther they were from Knepp, the less would be the advantage held by their pursuers.

  In the wood, Adam turned the men hard south. For as far as the trees stretched, they could hope that their change of direction would shake the men who followed them. It was not easy to hold direction because the branches of the trees broke and obscured the outlines of the constellations by which they guided themselves. There was a narrow band of wasteland, swampy with a blocked stream, and Adam waited there while the men went forward. For a time it seemed that they had lost the men from Knepp, but just as Adam reentered the eastern portion of the trees, he heard them—well to the north but still following. Emerging at last, Adam recognized the outlines of several landmarks. They were now almost due north of Kemp, about four miles from Lewes. He looked across the relatively open hills and frowned. Then he strained his eyes to the east and began to curse luridly. Another troop was riding toward them from the direction of Lewes—at full speed.

  But that was ridiculous! Adam realized in the instant that, against the background of the woods, his men could not be seen. Thus, whoever was galloping toward them could not be riding so fast to attack them. In that case, the speed must be an effort to elude pursuers. Adam signaled his men back into somewhat better concealment and watched the oncoming force. They must be either a troop of raiders trying to escape with their loot or a defeated war party, he guessed. Then he smote himself on the forehead. Dunce that he was! That was his loot and the men he had sent with it, fleeing from some armed party they had met accidentally. Now they had had it! They were caught between two fires.

  Even as he thought “two fires” Adam knew the answer. It was a common device to set a second fire to block the progress of one raging out of control. It might not work, but it was the only chance they had. Bidding his men stay still as mice in the wood, Adam rode out toward the fleeing party, crying, “Dunmow! Dunmow!” The men recognized the trumpet voice as well as the battle cry and slackened their pace a little, veering southward toward their master. Hard behind them came a troop of men from Lewes who had been guarding the demesne f
arms against another raid. Adam gauged the distance and nearly wept with joy. They should just make it.

  “Dunmow!” he bellowed, signaling the men to cry out the same after him, and plunged back in between the trees.

  Once in the shadows, he checked his horse as suddenly as possible. Obediently, the men pulled in their beasts and the train of pack animals also came to a halt. One by one, Adam sent the men off southward. If his trick did not work, this was as good a place as any to stand and fight. If it did work… The last group of packhorses he held back, cutting the rein that held them to each other so that they were free. Northward could be heard the sounds of the men of Knepp coming through the wood. To the east, the troop from Lewes was about one hundred yards from the trees. Choking with laughter, Adam pointed his ten packhorses north and east out of the treed area.

  “Dunmow!” he bellowed. “Dunmow!” bringing the flat of his sword down good and hard on each rump.

  With startled neighs, the horses bolted out of the wood, dashing straight ahead in the direction they had been pointed.

  “Dunmow!” Adam cried, encouraging them. “Dunmow!”

  The sound of his voice was caught by the trees behind him and flung outward. To those coming out of the wood, the battle cry seemed to come from the open area ahead. To those riding west on the heels of a pack train of loot, it seemed to come from inside the wood. The packhorses ran straight ahead, clearly emerging from between the trees until they heard and saw the mounted troop from Lewes thundering toward them. Then, following the instinct of their kind, they turned to join the herd. Adam knew perfectly well that he should ride off at once and join his men, but he could not resist staying to watch.

  Perhaps the gods of chance enjoy an appreciative audience. What followed was as perfect as if both troops of men were engaging in maneuvers at Adam’s direction instead of being out for his blood. The men from Knepp crashed out of the woods with the infuriating cry of “Dunmow” ringing out—apparently from the oncoming troop, which they assumed to be reinforcements for the raiders. The packhorses racing from the wood south of them seemed to be the tail end of Adam’s troop joining their fellows. Contrariwise, from the point of view of the men of Lewes, the pack train had entered the woods, met friends there, and was now reemerging to engage them.

  Without more ado, the two parties fell upon each other, cursing and swinging their swords. Adam nearly fell off his horse laughing at the mess of pottage he had stirred together. The only thing that saved him from choking to death on his own muffled guffaws was his regret that he could not wait to see the end of the matter. He hoped both groups would be so infuriated that they would fight each other until one was beaten and fled or until both were at a standstill. Unfortunately, there was another possibility. Both groups might come to notice that neither used the battle cry “Dunmow,” and might realize that they had been tricked. If so, it behooved Adam and his men to be as far as possible from the scene of the crime when that realization came.

  Whatever the outcome of the battle, one real good had come of it. Adam could quite safely flee southward now. It would not arouse any suspicion because any fugitive group, seeing its path blocked north, east, and west, would naturally fly south. Then, another mischievous thought struck Adam and he began to laugh again. They would soon be on the outskirts of Kemp land. There, Adam would tell the serfs to load anything of value into carts and take it to Kemp. His men would then fire the village and he, as much a victim as the lords of Lewes, Knepp, and Arundel, would complain bitterly of his loss.

  He could even have stopped at Kemp to have his wound treated, but he did not wish to do that. He sent Sir Robert a message explaining what he had done and rode on to Tarring. Adam was thinking of Gilliane and how much nicer it would be to be treated by her than by the castle leech. Since he was not in the least concerned about the wound itself, although he was a little puzzled as to why it had bled so much, he could see no reason why he should not get some pleasure out of it.

  Chapter Twelve

  In fact, rather more happened than Adam had bargained for. They had no more trouble with pursuit and arrived safe at Tarring with about three-quarters of their ill-gotten gains just after Gilliane had broken her fast. She was actually busy turning over the cargo of the French ship to choose cloth for a gown and muttering maledictions on the head of the woman who held Adam in thrall when a servant came running to tell her that he was a few minutes away. For one moment Gilliane was paralyzed by joy and relief. Then she ran to change her dress. Never again would she permit Adam to see her in garments more fitting for a maidservant than a lady. Gilliane was not only jealous, she was fast becoming aware of her own worth.

  However, love was far stronger in Gilliane than pride. Although she told herself that she should wait for Adam in dignity in the hall, her effort at self-discipline failed. Drawn as if by some physical force, she went step by step across the hall and down into the forebuilding, arriving in the bailey just as Adam was dismounting from his horse. The sight of him effectively wiped everything else from her mind and she ran forward to embrace him, only to be spun around and pushed away with such force that she did not even fall, being propelled forward about five feet into the arms of an oncoming groom.

  Gilliane uttered a single cry, tore herself free, and fled without daring to look behind her. She heard a confused noise and nearly died of shame. Adam was laughing!

  She could not have been more wrong. Adam would have been cursing, could he have spared the breath. The inarticulate grunts being forced out of him were of effort. He was clinging to his stallion’s reins, trying to prevent the enraged creature from killing everyone in sight. The unhappy coincidence of Adam sliding from the saddle just as Gilliane rushed toward him with outstretched arms had keyed all the animal’s defensive mechanisms. Adam had barely been able to push Gilliane out of the way before the war horse savaged her.

  He was at a grave disadvantage because he had been holding the reins rather loosely in his left hand while he dismounted. The stallion was tired and the men knew the fierce temper of the big gray horse well enough to approach it only on signal from Adam. Thus, he had been unprepared for its sudden lunge. Now he was in danger himself—not because the horse, who knew his scent, would intentionally attack him but because the wildly flailing hooves might strike him by accident. He could, of course, have let go completely, but then the stallion would have charged through the bailey and certainly injured a number of people before he could be captured and quieted.

  A wild fifteen minutes ensued while Adam clung to the rein, twisting it round and round his hand in an effort to shorten it and draw the stallion’s head toward him. He grabbed repeatedly for the bridle with his right hand, grunting with pain as a sensation of tearing and then of warmth told him he had reopened the wound on his right side. Finally, as much by luck as by good management, his hand caught the leather just above the bit and he was able to bring the horse’s head down so that it could not rear. The grooms, who had been watching, horrified and helpless, rushed forward to add their weight. Having caught his breath, Adam began to stroke his destrier and speak soothingly until, at last, the animal quieted enough to have the girth loosened and the saddle removed.

  That ended the crisis. Fury, the horse, was appeased, but fury was aroused in Adam. “Idiot woman!” he snarled, striding off into the keep. He was by no means pacified to find Gilliane nowhere on the main floor and no one assigned to help him out of his armor. Gilliane had told the maids she would undertake that task, and none of them realized what had happened.

  “Gilliane!” Adam bellowed, pulling off his furred cloak and flinging it ill-temperedly toward a chair. “Where is your mistress?” he roared at a shrinking maidservant.

  Naturally enough, he received no reply beyond a terrified shake of the head. None of the servants had seen Adam in a temper before, and the hall was emptying as if magic were making its normal population invisible.

  “Someone fetch her to me,” he snarled. “If I need to wait
for my comfort, I will have satisfaction for every minute out of the hides of every one of you.”

  The maid fled. Everyone else, even the few bolder spirits who had been lingering tentatively, hoping the storm would blow over, also disappeared. Turning about to ask a man to bring him wine, Adam found himself completely alone. Never had such a thing happened to him before. His own and his mother’s servants were well accustomed to outbursts of temper, and although they might slink along close to the walls and perform their tasks as silently and unobtrusively as possible, they would not run away. They knew that no worse would befall them than a sharp slap or a harsh word.

  Whatever the state of the servants had been under Neville, half a year of Saer’s management had put real fear into them. Men and women had been maimed, tortured and killed for no better reason than the master’s bad mood. Now all believed the horror would begin again. Some must suffer, but each hoped that someone else would be caught and the lord would be appeased before he or she was found.

  When the pallid and shaking maidservant flew into her chamber, stammering out Adam’s order and threat, Gilliane rose from the chair in which she had been sitting and went with a sleepwalker’s face and gait to the stairwell and down to the hall.

  “What ails you and the servants in this miserable place?” Adam shouted as soon as she appeared.