by C. C. Wiley
“Last I saw him, he was running to fetch you,” Drem said softly. He reached out to soothe the fear from her brow. Realizing he had given the men something to note, he withdrew his hand.
“I thought . . . I thought to find him here. He likes you, Sir Darrick. ’Tis where they were to bring that wretched Alexandre. Is it not?”
Drem’s mind began to spin. That little thief had lifted his leather purse when he ran up to him. He’d wager his last coin on it. “Would he run off with Alexandre?”
Brigitte’s fingers curled tight around the blade they had yet to take from her fist. “Not willingly. No.”
“The master could make him if the threats were against someone he cared for.”
“Me?”
“Aye,” Drem said.
She threw the blade on the table. “I’ve had enough of this siege.”
Drem caught it before it fell over the edge. “And what would you have us do?”
“We’ve waited them out and given them time to seek reinforcements.” Darrick lay on the cot, his leg propped. His flushed cheeks were like flares over his pasty skin. His hand never wavered from the hilt of his sword.
Brigitte took a tentative step closer. “Your men are digging in the wrong place.”
A stocky man stepped out of the shadows. The familiar scar ran from nose to cheek. Drem recognized him at once. They had ridden together on many battles. King Henry would not take kindly to her criticism.
“Is that so? Seeing that you are an expert on this, tell us where you would have us dig. The man they call the master said to dig by the tunnels.”
Brigitte narrowed her eyes, sizing him up. “Who are you?”
“No one of consequence, I assure you. But I do have the king’s ear. What can you tell us about Harfleur that we have so grievously missed? We gave terms to de Gaucourt and still he refuses to surrender.”
“Then tell your men to take the assault to the opposite side the master advised.” She moved forward and knelt before him. “I beseech you. You have cut off the water and food. The bombardments continue to destroy the people. They can take no more.”
She bent her neck, baring it to his possible wrath. “I have also seen the destruction of disease that ravages your men. There are things I can do to help them. Medicines, herbs that can alleviate their pain. Return their health. But I cannot do it here.”
King Henry placed his hand on her head. “And if you are wrong?”
“Then I, too, am defeated.”
* * *
Brigitte watched the English soldiers move their assault to the south side of Harfleur, as Alexandre had instructed. While they kept some of the soldiers in position to distract the citizens from their plans, a handful of men would sail their boats north, up the Lézarde.
And the English king would keep all Harfleur busy hiding from his guns and siege machines. All too soon, the bombardments began again. She flinched as another shot of stone struck the outer wall.
“You dare too much,” Drem said.
She smothered a sigh as the heat of his body warmed her back. “I dare what I must. Alexandre is playing games with lives.”
Turning from the sight of the men moving en masse, she searched the encampment for what felt like the hundredth time. “Have you seen Piers?
“No. I fear he has slipped away with Master Alexandre.”
Brigitte frowned. “Why is Alexandre so determined to have him?”
“He spoke of financial gain.”
“From whom?”
Drem placed his hand upon her shoulder and turned her attention away from the men. “We will find him. I promise.” His thumb swirled in circles over her clenched jaw, her aching neck. “I will make it a priority to free him from Alexandre.”
She leaned into him, wanting more. How did he manage to peel away the tension and worry and replace it with another need?
“Are you confident your plan will succeed?” he asked.
A shuddering breath came from somewhere deep inside her. “We can hope and pray. Or I can take steps to see that it will indeed break the siege.”
His thumb slowed the dance over her skin and the trance began to fade. “What are you up to, my sweet caru?”
Brigitte shut her eyes. She did not want to see his censure when she explained the plan that had formed the moment the English soldiers began their move. Drem would not approve, but without it, the siege was bound to continue and more would surely die.
She caught his hand and pressed his palm to her cheek. Rolling it over, she placed a kiss in the center before folding his fingers over.
“A kiss to always keep beside you.”
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. His mouth moved over her scalp. “I am to help the men on the north side. I will return to you as soon as we have taken the wall.” He pointed to a bundle on the cot. “’Tis for you.”
Tears slid down her cheeks as she nodded in response. He hesitated long enough that she knew he questioned her behavior. After gathering his shield and sword, he ducked his head and left to do his duty for the king.
She ran her hands over a soft forest green woolen gown and gathered her cloak.
* * *
“The boy is ransomed!” Alexandre shouted. “I’m not about to let that fortune slip through my fingers.”
“Now you have brought their attention to him. What do you think they’ll do?” de Gaucourt asked, poking his finger into Alexandre’s chest. “They’ll wonder why you want him so badly.” His nail dug into the gambeson. “And that woman, your precious Bee, will sniff him out like an angry mama bear.”
“She is worth more to me hidden than found. There are those who never want her found.” Alexandre pushed de Gaucourt’s finger away. He hid his satisfaction when it bent back enough to cause the man to wince. “I gave the English king’s men information that will keep them busy until reinforcements arrive. They are to struggle with the Leure Gate.”
“Why would they believe you?”
“I told them you were weak. Your forces easily broken. They think they have my allegiance. Not you. And they’ll continue digging on the strong side of town.” Alexandre noted the chink in Raoul’s ego and quickly repaired it. “Of course ’tis a lie. That we both know.”
“The south wall is well defended. But the people are beginning to voice concern. They need food and water. We have waited to hear word and yet nothing comes. Perhaps we should attempt to renegotiate. The English king’s brother, the Duke of Clarence . . . would he be more sympathetic to our citizens?”
“No. I’ve seen the condition of their army. The soldiers are sick and weakened. They’ll soon tire. Our reinforcements will annihilate them.”
Le Défenseur was starting to show his weakness. ’Twas something Alexandre could not abide. Not when it put his life in jeopardy. De Gaucourt had assured him the town would never fall, but as a precaution, Alexandre had set into motion a plan to protect himself and leave Raoul de Gaucourt to deal with the avenging English.
“The boy. Piers.” Raoul paced beside the window. “When Orleans hears he is in danger of being discovered . . .” He ran a palm over the back of his sweating neck. “. . . he will want to know how it happened.” He looked up, his eyes glazed with panic. “I’ll not be to blame this time.”
Alexandre smelled his fear. Like rancid onions on the breath. “Nor will I.” He twirled his hand, gesturing away the contagious anxiety. “Not to worry. It will never arise. That damned English king will never defeat us.”
Chapter 16
Brigitte slipped through the tunnel that led into Harfleur. She rubbed her dampened palms over her soft woolen skirt. Piers’s disappearance had caused her blood to chill. He would not leave without speaking to her first.
Guilt gnawed at her. She should have trusted Drem enough to tell him about the tunnel and her plans. She squashed the whispers from her conscience that he would never understand.
As a fledgling in the Nest, she had learned that timing was imperative for s
uccess. Once they learned there was a weaker entrance to attack, she became as invisible as a vapor of smoke. While the soldiers rushed to and fro like scurrying rats, she made use of that vaporous ability and left the tent unnoticed.
The relief in taking the necessary steps to find Piers and break the siege gave her the courage to go.
Thanks to Alexandre, the last time she had seen the citizens they had wanted her at the end of a swinging rope. Could she convince them to help breach the north wall and surrender to the English? ’Twas a gamble she was willing to take. Alexandre and de Gaucourt had to be stopped before all Harfleur was destroyed.
Resolute, Brigitte glanced to the shadows. She kept to the tumbled and shattered walls of toppled buildings. The town no longer resembled Harfleur as she had known it. It was a place of ruins.
The stench worked its way up through the alleyway. Covering her nose with her sleeve, she stumbled over the refuse. A hand, partially buried under debris, reached out in the struggle for life and lost the battle.
She hurried past the rubble. Dark pools stained the cobblestones. Fearing the next body she found would be someone she knew, she fought to keep from retching at the loss of life. Too much damage. Had anyone survived the bombardments?
What was left of an alleyway should have led to Claudette’s laundry. The ground trembled. The buildings leaned to one side, threatening to collapse with the next explosion.
Her body slammed against the wall. No spirit flyer, but a warm and fleshly body wrapped around her waist. A tousled head of caramel pressed against her hip. Piers!
“What are you doing here?” he cried. His gaunt body dug into her hip.
Brigitte untangled his arms. Leaning over, she pressed her palms to her thighs. She drew in a ragged breath, proving to her racing mind that she was still alive.
“You were told to stay in the English camp. Why—”
“You’re not supposed to be here. I promised—”
She caught his shirt before he could escape. “What?”
Tears welled in his sky blue eyes and a portion of her wrath began to melt under his gaze.
“Master Alexandre.” Piers’s lower lip began to quiver.
Her stomach clenched. “What has that monster done this time?”
“He saw me . . . lift something. Said the English would punish me. And when they did, you’d come after them.” He gulped air like a landed trout. “I’d be responsible for your death if I didn’t go with him.”
Speechless, she hugged him tight. How could that man be so cruel?
“I don’t want you to die too, Bee,” he mumbled into her rib cage.
“Nor do I,” she said. The fury-storm headed in their direction gave her pause. A mob of citizens marched toward them. Their buzz of rage boiled over. “We must hide before they decide to use a rope.”
“Claudette will know what to do.” Piers glanced over his shoulder before leading her into the alleyway.
Brigitte peered at the laundress’s demolished building. “She lives?”
A beefy arm reached out of the shadows, grabbing Brigitte’s sleeve. Before she could make her escape, she was wrapped in Claudette’s embrace.
“Brigitte.” One arm still in a dirty sling, Claudette gathered Piers to her ample bosom. “Hurry. Come this way.” She directed them toward an angled doorway. Flicking her dress to remove the clinging dust and grime, she ushered them into the room. “’Tis temporary,” she said.
Brigitte nodded. There was barely enough space to stand erect. Filth covered what was left of the laundry. But the air smelled only of smoke and was free of decay, a welcoming aspect from the death outside the doorway.
Colette stood with her arms braced over her ample chest. “So. What do you want?”
“To bring the siege to an end. To bring life back to Harfleur . . .” She gripped Claudette’s fingers. “To surrender.”
Claudette flinched under her hand. “To those English wolves?”
“I’ve seen what they can do. I know what they have. King Henry will not leave until Harfleur is released to him.” Brigitte tightened her grasp. “Gather those who you trust. We’ll bring this struggle for power to an end.” She made one more assault. “Le Défenseur does not care for the citizens. Nor does our mad king.”
“Le Fou.” Claudette looked to see whether anyone had heard her and made the sign of the cross.
“’Tis all for their glory. Sacrifice the people.” She squeezed her hand. “Let’s stop this. Return to life. Mayhap a better life under the rule of a king who believes God has spoken and France must be returned to the rightful heir.”
Claudette’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “We will not be traitors?”
“No one must know.”
Claudette shook free. “Then we do it together.” She waved the air, clearing all possibilities but one. “No one else.”
Brigitte nodded. The laundress had more than strong shoulders and arms. She had a sharp mind. They would make their way to the north side and find a way to let in the English. Once they controlled Harfleur, brought life back to normal, and rebuilt the town . . . the people would appreciate what had been done. Brigitte’s neck itched, as if the heavy rope lay upon her shoulders like an anchor.
“Piers.”
“Oui.”
“Go. The same way I entered. Carry the message to Sir Drem. Hurry. Tell him. . . . tell him to make ready. We will open the tunnel near the Rouen Gate to the north.” She gripped his wrists. “Do not let Master Alexandre or the fledglings see you.”
His pale face flushed. “Oui.”
* * *
“I’ll strangle that woman,” Drem muttered under his breath. “Then I’ll kiss her back to life.”
The news that Brigitte had disappeared reached him as they were about to breach the south wall. Unable to leave his post, Drem’s only option was to dwell and stew on the fact that Brigitte had left him. Not an unusual state. Certainly not the first time someone he cared for had betrayed him. But this time . . . this time it ate at him like an old battle wound, a withering limb that ached to the core of his soul.
The bombardment hit the south side, echoing over the valley. The Defender’s forces struck back. The blast rocked him on his heels. He braced his legs, ready for another.
Nathan rode up, his mount oblivious to the explosion of stone against stone. Smoke boiled over the wall and into the sky. He squinted into the setting sun. “Still believe your woman means no harm?”
Drem scanned the haze. He searched his soul. Did he trust her? Hadn’t they spent time in the grotto? Knowing each other in ways only a man and woman could? “Aye,” he said. “She’ll tell us what she’s up to in due time.”
Nathan’s horse snorted, as if to answer for his master. “’Tis a long path we chose. Bombardments are breaking through. Rather not stay here another day.”
Drem bit the inside of his lip. Nathan’s concern was more about the woman he had left on the north side than his desire to march to wherever their king led them. Drem shrugged. “No difference between here and the other side.”
“Depends on the view.” Nathan’s grin, more feral than friendly, never reached his eyes. He shoved the scruff of hair from his face. “’Tis best you pray we confuse them. Our king grows impatient.”
“I wager . . .”
A flurry of movement came forward. ’Twas like the spreading of the seas, parting for the messenger. Piers? Where did he come from?
“Let the boy pass,” Drem shouted at the foot soldiers barring the way. He took a wide step forward. Then drew back and waited for Piers to meet him.
’Twas not the time to demand the return of his coin purse. There were more pressing needs. He would wait until they drew the information from the lad. But by God, he would teach the boy there were some who did not condone pilfering.
That morning Henry had decreed that Harfleur was not to be ransacked. ’Twas unwelcome news to the soldiers. Most had already planned how they would spend their deserved reward. B
ut he was king of France, and Henry had pronounced that he would not allow stealing from his own people.
Piers dared not lift another item that was not his or there’d be worse than a verbal flogging coming his way. Drem feared the temptation for some would see him dangle at the end of a rope.
One of the foot soldiers clamped his hand over Piers’s shoulder, guiding him through the troop of men. Nathan’s destrier stamped, scaring off any would-be eavesdroppers. They made their way, pushing back until only the horse and rider remained to tower over everyone.
The boy panted as if he had run a race. His reddened cheeks flared under flashing eyes. He glanced away in the attempt to avoid Drem’s gaze.
“None of that,” Drem said. He motioned Piers over. “’Tis a surprise to see you.”
“Bee,” he puffed. “She sent me.”
At the mention of her name, he searched the field. Hoping. “She comes?”
“No. I’m the only one small enough to get through the tunnel,” Piers said. “’Tis partially collapsed, you see.” His mouth, covered in dust, pinched into a frown. “She’ll stay on the other side until we bring the wall down.”
Dread filled Drem’s stomach. It felt weighted, as if he’d eaten a load of the stone for the great guns. “Why did she send you?”
“Said to wait for the sun to set. There’s a hidden gate to the north. Some of the shippers use it. ’Twas flooded by de Gaucourt’s men. Watch for a light. Then you’ll know ’tis clear to slip your men through.” His message delivered, his knees buckled, dropping him to the ground.
Drem squatted next to him. “What of Alexandre? De Gaucourt?”
“They were gathering the citizens.” He gnawed on his lip, catching a raw patch with his teeth. Worry marred his dirty face. “They followed me to her.”
“Stay here.” Drem rose. His hands clenched. He caught Nathan’s eye. How was he to convince everyone else that they could not wait until sunset?
* * *
Brigitte clutched the stone to her chest and prayed no one would see her. Their plan was madness. Master Alexandre had his fledglings searching the town for Piers. And for her. He knew her too well and had been keeping watch for her return. Had he received word she had met with Claudette? Or had he purposefully allowed Piers to slip free?