On the other hand, he didn’t believe men ever changed, either. They coveted what wasn’t theirs, they always found reasons why what they wanted should belong to them, and they stole and hacked and maimed. Mayhap like the castellans of his Radstock and Furly keeps, Sir Gregory in particular—a man’s loyalties had to be reinforced, constantly, else he might slide off the path. Women as well?
23
That night, after he had lost two games of chess to Burnell, Garron couldn’t sleep with all the snores surrounding him in the great hall, and so he woke Gilpin, who could sleep through a raging storm, and they moved their goose-feather mattresses to the lord’s bedchamber. Garron spent a long time listening to Robert Burnell snore like a stoat, his man Dilkin sprawled on his back on the floor on a mess of blankets, snoring as loudly as Burnell, in harmony, it seemed to Garron.
He left, yawning and blurry-eyed, with Robert Burnell the next morning and ten men, all of them armed to the teeth. He left Aleric in charge.
Merry stood on the ramparts and watched them ride into the Forest of Glen, Aleric standing at her elbow. Garron had merely nodded to her and given Aleric a nice long list of instructions to give to her, which he did once the line of men had disappeared from sight.
It was a sunny morning, shining down on Aleric’s bald head. “You seem worried, Aleric. Do you believe either Radstock or Furly will resist swearing fealty to Garron? The men Sir Wills and Sir Gregory sent seem content to be here and eager to work. Do you think their masters sent them here to spy out our weaknesses?”
“Nay, I do not think that, but I do believe it wise for Lord Garron to have Robert Burnell with him. No man with a brain would resist King Edward. Sir Gregory of Furly, now that little spittlecock has more ambition than brains, but Garron will see to him. The men each man sent are workers to build, not to spy, and they can fight if they must, so that is a relief. Hobbs told me both Sir Wills and Sir Gregory were relieved to hear Garron is not like his brother. To have their new lord the king’s man is of value as well. Pali and Gilpin will speak to the men within the keeps. They will see the truth of things very quickly.
“Worry not, mistress. Despite his few years, Garron is a leader, he has taught me strategies over the years. He is a man to trust. He has a brain, bless the beneficent Saint Simian, who gave away his sandals to a beggar. He then cut his foot on a rock, and died screaming in pain a sennight later, so it was said. If there is something of value to learn in that tale, I have yet to find it.”
Merry wondered why Simian hadn’t been smart enough to consult a healer. “How do you come to be Garron’s master-at-arms?”
Aleric’s face split into a huge grin. “Now there is a tale to boil the blood. It was all about a thieving merchant, a milking cow, and a hapless gypsy. Another time, mistress. Garron will keep his possessions safe, and if Sir Wills and Sir Gregory have any brains at all, they will hold steadfast to him and his authority.
“Look yon at our magnificent cattle. Garron allowed me to select them myself since my father was a master herdsman. I could help birth a calf and milk the mother when I was just a lad. Now, the cattle will continue to graze outside the keep until this afternoon. Then we will bring them in, the dairy maids will milk them, and we will winch up the drawbridge and lower the portcullis and be snug within, fifty cattle mooing in our ears, their sweet milk warm in our bellies.
“We don’t have that many trained soldiers but we do have a lot of healthy workers. We will be fine.” He massaged his shoulder, since his muscles pulled and cramped because he’d carried more stacks of cut wood than he ever had in his life the day before, and he wasn’t a lad of twenty anymore, cursed be the passing years that simply never stopped to let a man catch up.
“Your shoulder pains you, Aleric. You have lifted too many heavy planks of wood, haven’t you, pounded in too many nails? Let me consult my herbal.”
Taking herbs for knotted muscles? Was she mad? Every soldier knew pain after a battle, and the rebuilding was worth at least three battles, but it had to be done, so no matter. He started to say it was nothing, but he said instead, “Thank you,” and continued to rub. She’d been right about that. Still—afterward, not two hours later—Garron had been full of plans, balanced again, even smiling.
She said, “Let us go over our lists, Aleric, and determine what is to be done each day.”
“Lord Garron did not leave me a separate list, just the one for you.”
So Aleric did not read. She said matter-of-factly, “No matter, I will read you what he has written and we will see.”
Aleric believed it even more amazing when he saw her beautiful script, all those elegant strange black lines and loops that made sense—to some people. He grunted as she read off items on the lists, and they made changes and adjustments. Each was satisfied that the other had the same goal: to have Wareham nearly back to normal by the time Garron returned. They were expecting three more families by the end of the week.
When Aleric sought out Merry an hour later, he said, “I have visited Arno the miller. He’s brought his wife, his wife’s mother, and his three children. His wheel broke and so I assigned men to repair it.”
Merry nodded. “I have consulted my herbal. I have ground up horehound, marisilver, and vervain, and mixed them together in hot water. I have a paste to rub into your shoulder. It will leach out the soreness. Come with me to the solar, Aleric.”
And so he went with her, and took off his tunic.
She hummed as she rubbed her sweet-smelling mixture deep into his knotted muscles. There were so many scars on his body, she thought, and so much hair as well, much of it white. She smiled as he groaned and sighed. And when he admitted the pain lessened very quickly and the soreness eased, she wanted to dance. That he smelled like wildflowers would make his men laugh, Aleric knew, but it didn’t matter. Since many of the men were sore, he sent them to Merry. Garron, he thought, would have the sweetest-smelling workers in Christendom.
More than a dozen men sought her out that day. Merry realized she would run out of the precious horehound. She had to consult her herbal for another infusion.
As she served Aleric his afternoon meal of gravied beef slices on hard brown bread, she said, “Keep sending me people; the more I practice, the faster I will learn all the recipes in my herbal. Ah, but I must plant herbs.” She fell silent and Aleric knew she was planning it all out in her head. He also knew there would be a long list on the morrow. He mentally selected two young men to prepare an herb garden.
Just after dawn the following morning, Merry awoke abruptly to yells. She had slept in Garron’s lovely new bed at Miggins’s insistence. “Aye, little sweeting, ye need yer sleep after listening to me snore loud enough to keep the pope awake,” which was true. She, Elaine, Ivo, and Errol spooned on the soft bed, the three dogs lined up like firewood at the foot. She pulled gently away from Errol, and quickly dressed in one of Lady Anne’s gowns Lisle had cleaned for her the day before, tied on her slippers, and raced to the door, grabbing her cloak and pulling it around her. She left Elaine sitting up, rubbing her eyes, looking alarmed.
“I don’t know what is happening,” Merry said over her shoulder, “but mayhap the Black Demon has returned. Quickly, Elaine, dress and go into the great hall. I will send all the children to you. Take care of them.”
The three dogs raced after her. The great hall was already pandemonium. There were at least thirty women there, awakened by the shouts, some of them weeping, wringing their hands, praying loudly to the blackened beams overhead. A woman yelled, “ ’Tis the enemy again! They will spit our guts on their swords and roast us over a fire!”
Then a chorus of voices joined in the refrain.
“The Black Demon is back!”
“They will rape all of us this time, even us old’uns!”
“Lord Garron took all the soldiers! There is no one left!”
Merry scrambled on top of a trestle table, waved her arms, and shouted, “Shut your mouths! What are you, bleating sh
eep? Wareham is your home! You defend your home. Listen to me, no one will come through the postern gate again, Aleric always has men guarding it.
“We are women, we are strong. We will show the enemy what we are made of. All of you—fetch weapons, anything that can break a man’s head. This time we will make the Black Demon run for his miserable life!”
The grumbles fell away. There was dead silence, then, “Aye, I’ll clout one of the whoresons!”
“I’ll kick their slimy parts to France!”
“France is the homeland to slimy parts!”
24
The women stripped all the iron pots and knives from the cooking shed, Talia grabbed a long-handled metal scoop for meat pies and bread, and raced out after them. Soon all the women and the workers were standing in the inner bailey, armed with planks of wood, hammers, mallets, and all the precious knives and pots, ready to take on the Devil. As for the soldiers, they stood in a small knot at the base of the ramparts ladder, looking up at Aleric.
They moved aside to let Merry climb the ladder to stand beside Aleric on the ramparts walkway. She stared down at a band of thirty men, their leader tall in his saddle, his gleaming silver mail covering a black tunic, his destrier black as a moonless sky. She felt fear, rancid as bile, rise in her throat, choking her—was it the Black Demon? Persuading the women to have pride and fight was one thing, actually seeing the Black Demon was quite another. But why had he returned to Wareham? He had already searched Wareham for Arthur’s silver, and that meant he’d learned where the silver was and had come back to get it.
There were no more than fifteen fighting men at Wareham, all the others workers, but she knew they would fight to the death. The women as well, she thought, pride filling her as she turned to look down over the inner rampart’s wall, into the inner bailey at the women clustered together, holding their weapons tightly against their chests, looking determined. Merry saw the soldiers still standing below her—what did Aleric have in mind?
The drawbridge was tightly winched up, the portcullis down. Thank the merciful Virgin’s stout heart it was only dawn and the cattle were still within the walls and not outside for the Black Demon’s men to slaughter.
Merry stilled her fear and stood straight and tall, like Aleric. She watched him turn and speak to Hobbs, who was kneeling behind him. Hobbs went down on his haunches and spoke to the men now climbing the ladder, one by one, staying low and quiet. They fanned out to both sides and crawled along the rampart walls, keeping their heads low as they positioned the quivers on their shoulders and readied their bows. She heard Aleric tell Hobbs, “Three of the men are in mail, the rest are not. There aren’t many archers, maybe a dozen, all of them standing in a straight line behind the horses. If it comes to shooting, tell our archers to aim for the necks of the soldiers on horses, but don’t kill any animals. We need them.”
Aleric nodded at her, still not questioning her presence, and said more to himself than to her, “It is not much of an army the whoreson brings to Wareham, nothing really to test a man’s mettle,” and then he smiled, a ferocious smile that would have scared her to her toes had she been on the other side of the moat. Aleric shouted down, “Who are you? What do you want?”
Their leader called, “I heard of Wareham’s destruction. Are you the last remaining man to stand upright in this blighted castle? Who is the girl standing beside you? Why was she not taken? I heard all comely maids and those even not so comely were taken. Are all the rest of your people dead or too weak to walk? Let me in and I will feed you and those who are still alive.”
Aleric said to Merry, “By Saint Albert’s pointed chin, I know that man, I recognize his voice and his horse—look at the four white fetlocks. Garron described his destrier to me, but I do not know the man’s name. He is the man we came upon in the Clandor Forest on our way to Wareham. He and three men had kidnapped a boy and Garron intervened. He himself fought this man, but the bastard managed to escape him. Now he is here. Is he the Black Demon? I wonder. If not, then the Black Demon is his master.”
Merry recognized his voice and his horse as well. Only she knew his name and who his master was, for his standard, held by a squire, luffed out in the stiff wind. Two black eagles, wings folded down, bones piled between them.
Jason of Brennan’s standard.
She calmed herself. Sir Halric couldn’t get to her this time. She was perfectly safe behind Wareham’s walls. “Will you tell him you know who he is?”
Aleric shook his head. “Garron always says that knowledge is vital and it is always wise to keep it close. We will see what the cur tries next.” He gave a fearsome smile as he shouted down to Sir Halric, “Nay, I cannot allow you and your men to enter. You were here before, you killed nearly all of us, and those you didn’t kill nearly starved to death, what with the bands of men you left outside the walls to prevent us from hunting.”
Sir Halric yelled, “I have never before been to Wareham. I told you I heard of a deadly attack, and my lord, the Earl of Exmouth, wishes me to give you aid. He and Lord Arthur were friends. It pains him that such misery has visited Wareham, and thus I am here to help you.”
Aleric said to Merry, “I doubt that sincerely. But one thing is clear—the Black Demon does not know Garron returned to Wareham. He sent his man here, expecting to find naught but human misery, that or an empty castle with only rotted corpses within the walls.”
“Do you think he believes this time he will find Arthur’s silver coins? Do you believe someone told him where to find the silver, and that is why he has returned?”
“Evidently so.” Aleric looked back down at the inner bailey, at the scores of people staring up at the ramparts, all of them armed—hammers and handsaws and wooden boards and the women stood there as well, silent, ready. He saw old Miggins holding an iron pan in her gnarled hand, her look ferocious. He saw no fear on those raised faces, men or women, and was pleased. It was Merry, he thought, and wondered what she’d said to the women.
Aleric said to her, “Whoever he is, he is a bad liar,” and he yelled down, “The Earl of Exmouth? He was Lord Arthur’s friend? I did not know. This is an excellent, selfless offer. But where are the scores of pack mules with all this aid you are offering us?”
“I have left them under guard in the Forest of Glen. Who is that girl beside you? She looks familiar to me. What is her name?”
Aleric saw that Merry had turned to stone beside him. He called down, “How could she look familiar to you? She is naught but a priest’s byblow.”
“When I enter Wareham, I will look at her closely and tell you.”
She turned away from the rampart wall and pulled her cloak over her head.
Aleric shouted, “I would be a fool to lower the drawbridge for you to enter and finish your butchery. You will take your leave. The postern gate is closed and guarded. Return to the Earl of Exmouth and tell him Wareham will survive without his assistance.”
Sir Halric turned his head and gave a slight nod. In the next moment, an arrow flew within two inches of Aleric, but he was already in motion, dropping to his knees, pulling Merry with him. Merry was shaking, couldn’t help it, with both the knowledge that Sir Halric would probably realize who she was and that an arrow had nearly gone through Aleric’s chest. That was close, very close.
Sir Halric shouted, “Curse you for an idiot, let me and my men enter! I must do my master’s bidding. You have no choice—it is certain death if you do not obey me.”
Aleric yelled back, raising his head only enough so he could see Sir Halric, “I wonder, does the Earl of Exmouth even know who you are, sirrah? Why don’t you tell me your name?”
A rain of arrows flew toward them. Aleric raised his shield over his and Merry’s head, as did all the men crouched down on the ramparts walkway. He said softly, “Nay, don’t move, not yet. Keep down.” He didn’t look away from the soldiers outside.
As for their people in the inner bailey, none were hurt, thank St. Flavin’s crooked thumbs. Aleric heard
angry, muttering curses, and grinned.
Aleric didn’t raise his head above the stone wall. “What will you do when your archers have shot all their arrows? I have told you the traitor you planted before in our midst is no longer here to let you in. Will you swim the moat? Will you place ladders against the walls and climb them? There are enough of us to kill you if that is what you will try. We are safe from you. Leave!”
“I have told you, I had no part in Wareham’s destruction! You will do as I tell you or I will starve you out! Do not be a fool, no one will leave Wareham, no one. You will all be dead in another week. Then my men will scale your walls and it will be over. I will not kill you if you allow me to enter now. I told you, I will give all of you food.”
“What is it you want?”
“I search for what Lord Arthur stole, nothing more.”
“You know Lord Arthur is dead. You searched for hidden silver coins before, but you did not find it. What makes you think you will find the silver this time?”
“I was not ever here before! I have been told—damn you, lackwit, allow me to enter! We will take the silver and be gone.”
“Who told you where the silver is?”
“That is none of your affair! Let us enter!”
“What is this? You no longer wish to feed us? Come, what is your name?” Aleric thought he would burst out of his armor, his anger was so great.
“Don’t you make sport with me. Let down the drawbridge!”
“So he is not going to give me his name.” Aleric sighed, then turned and nodded to the kneeling archers. “Now!” They rose as one and shot their arrows. Three men on horseback fell to the ground. Sir Halric didn’t fall, but an arrow grazed his neck, furrowing a deep trench. Merry saw the blood flow out even from where she was.
Sir Halric cursed furiously, waved his mailed hand toward Aleric, motioned to his own archers to fire again, but they had run away. Without the archers, the mounted soldiers were in a weak position and they knew it. They wheeled their mounts about and were out of range within moments, another ten arrows raining down to land on the shields covering their heads, the dirt swirling at the pounding of the horses’ hooves.
The Valcourt Heiress Page 13