Maud’s eyes turned froglike. ‘Well, strike me dead. You dressed the queen’s hair.’
‘And the queen was so pleased she said she would take me with her. Oh, I felt like I had gone to Heaven.’ Adela smiled and then with a sigh she shook herself back into the present. ‘Please don’t tell Herliva. I’ll only be called a liar.’
‘’Course not, who’d believe the likes of me. ’Sides, I avoid the old cow as much as I can. So why aren’t you in the royal household now?’
Adela told her about the king pursuing her and how she had hidden on the ship. When the tale was ended, Maud crossed herself. ‘You poor creature. Risin’ so high like that and now … well, I reckon you should seek out your da again, seein’ you and my lady look so similar and you bein’ so learned, find out who you really are.’
‘Believe me, I’ve been wondering, but my father died two years ago and Lady Mary would be very old now if she’s still alive.’ She gave a shrug.
‘That’s a right pity, you could be my lady’s baseborn sister. Wouldn’t that put a poker up ’erliva’s backside. Oh whoopsy! Look at how ruddy low the sun is. We’d best make haste.’ She struggled to her feet. ‘Never you mind, young’un, your life ain’t over yet. An’ there’ll be room in Heaven if we behave ourselves.’ They each took a handle of the heavy pannier. ‘But I tell you this,’ Maud gasped, ‘if I go to Hell, I ain’t washin’ any clothes.’
‘And if the Devil says you must?’
‘I’ll tell ’im where to shove his trident.’
They were halfway back to the tents, when Maud suddenly halted and looked about her with a troubled face. ‘I’ll not be sorry to reach Mirrorscone. We’ve taken too ruddy long on this journey already an’ my lady shouldn’t have dawdled in Toulouse buying all them fripperies. If these foreigners think this a road, ballocks! I’ve a feeling of foreboding, pet. When my thumbs itch …’
By the time they made camp two days later, the entire company had acquired an uneasiness that had every man looking over his shoulder whenever the wind rustled the leaves. The road that the guide had brought them on was inferior to the highways they had travelled on earlier and they were being stalked. The two huntsmen, who kept the company supplied with fresh meat, had been missing for over a day, and this morning one of the outriders had been killed by a crossbolt shaft and two more had been wounded.
Lady Alys was visibly anxious for her own safety and as nightfall came upon them, Sir William stood at her tent door most concerned to reassure her. ‘As I said earlier, my lady, this can only be the work of a few lily-livered ruffians. Why else would they try to pick off our men one by one? Rest assured we have by far the superior numbers. No one shall capture you for ransom, I swear it on my very soul.’
‘All very well, Sir William, but I shall not sleep soundly knowing they are out there.’
‘Is my tent not pitched next to yours so I may defend you with my life?’ Adela on her knees folding my lady’s clean underlinen looked up at his words and noted the unspoken message in the knight’s eyes as he gazed at her mistress.
‘Indeed, that is so,’ murmured Lady Alys. No doubt she gave him the usual faux modesty glance from beneath lowered lashes, but Adela could not be sure.
‘Tomorrow I shall deal with these brigands, my lady. I give you my oath.’
‘Girl!’ Lady Alys looked sharply over her shoulder at Adela. ‘Tell Father Arbert I shall not require any lessons this evening. Bid him pray for the wounded.’
Adela was disappointed as she went to find the priest.
Each night before Sir William ordered the cook to put out the fires and bade his men draw straws for the first watch, the old Mirascon priest would sit with my lady and instruct her. Whereas Herliva, who shared Lady Alys’s lessons, scorned Occitan as inferior to ‘the language of kings’, Adela had been pleased to eavesdrop and she was beginning to understand the gist of Father Arbert’s words whenever he spoke slowly in his own tongue.
Tonight, despite the knight’s warning that all should stay close by, she found the old man at his devotions some hundred paces downstream. She tried Occitan to deliver the message. He smiled at her limping delivery, gave her a blessing and resumed his prayers.
His serenity stayed with her. The warm air was lulling, filled with the noise of summer insects, and she paused by a meander of the stream, cradling her shoulders and watching the bats making their evening pilgrimage across the sky until common sense advised her to return to the camp. She could hear that the horses and ponies were becoming unsettled as though they sensed something stealthy in the undergrowth. Of course, it could just be fearless Maud. Usually at dusk the laundress would steal away with Emmott among the trees and tonight might be no different.
‘Girl!’ The sharp voice from my lady’s tent shattered her reverie and she turned to see Lady Alys tapping her foot impatiently. ‘Girl, I say!’ She never called Adela by her name. ‘Attend me! Herliva is nursing the wounded so this evening you must suffice.’
It was a pleasant task to help Lady Alys disrobe from her cote-hardie and gown. Adela loved the feel of the sumptuous silk beneath her fingertips. She replaited my lady’s hair into one loose, perfumed braid, and when my lady was settled on her travel bed, blew out the candles and pulled the coverlet over her.
‘You may lie inside here tonight as Herliva is elsewhere,’ Lady Alys conceded.
Adela needed no second bidding. Giving her lady privacy, she fetched her blanket and discreetly curled up against the inside wall of the tent, behind the open chest that held Lady Alys’s toiletries and jewel casket. It felt safer to be here than in the cart where she slept with Maud and she was so weary that she was scarce through her prayers before oblivion claimed her.
She dreamed … dreamed she was behind the huge barred gates of a castle and outside a monstrous war engine was hurtling towards—
Dear God! The earth was really shaking beneath her head. Hooves were galloping straight at her. Instinctively, she flung herself back as the opposite tent wall caved in and a blazing torch touched the canvas flap. Outside she could hear men’s screams and the clash of steel on steel.
‘My lady!’ Struggling to crawl round the chest, her fingers came up against the jewel casket. Clutching it to her body with one arm, she stumbled towards where Alys lay, but the cot was empty. Around her the canvas was bursting into flame. Terrified, she felt around for something sharp to cut her way out and screamed as a blade pierced the back wall and fiercely slit it open.
‘Madame! Ah, thank Heaven!’ It was Ferrer, one of the men-at-arms. ‘You must flee!’ His hand fumbled to find her arm and he dragged her forth like a clumsy midwife, hauled her into a living hell. ‘Make for the trees and keep running!’
‘But I’m not—’
For an instant, she froze against him. Sir William’s tent was already a pyre and the camp was a battlefield, men yelling as they fought, screaming too, some of them, their clothes aflame.
‘O Jesu!’ gasped her rescuer. A brigand was riding at them, brandishing a cudgel. ‘GO!’ A brutal hand thrust her away. Gasping, she half scrambled, half ran. Turning her head, she saw her rescuer lift his sword with both hands and then fall to his knees, as the horseman cleaved his skull.
Her sobbing breath seemed loud as drumbeats as she plunged into the dense darkness of the wood. Behind her, she heard the hooves come after her. Low limbs of thicket clawed at her, cords of creepers caught her feet. On and on. The ground was rising. On and on. Then by chance she stumbled upon a deer track that wound up the hill. Fear drove her until the stitch in her side held no mercy. As she slumped against the nearest tree, she saw the patches of murderous flame lighting the valley floor below. Lesser lights, torches, were clustering now.
‘Sweet Jesu!’ beseeched Adela as the ring broke and the lights sped out in all directions. There would be no survivors.
Chapter Seven
… turn your plan into action without delay
Peter Abelard to Héloïse
Th
e chill breath of early morning bestirred her. Opening her eyes, Adela discovered she was lying in a tumble of leaves behind an ancient log. Spears of dazzling sunlight quivered on the trunks of the beech trees about her and the nearby thicket was noisy with sparrows. One side of her forehead ached fiercely and touching her skin, she discovered the swelling of a large bruise. Then with further astonishment she discovered Lady Alys’s jewel coffer lying beside her. Had she thieved it?
Clambering to her feet, dizzy, confused, she could smell smoke. Only faint, yes, but … And then like flakes of settling ash, it all came back. The flames, the screaming. Now there were no human voices. Nothing below in the valley, only the plainsong of the birds.
She needed to go down. How could she not? She was desperate to know if anyone else had been left alive.
Tucking the coffer within the leaves that nestled the log and knowing she must find this place again, she mindfully snagged her pale cote upon the nearby thicket. For weapons, she needed a cudgel that might keep a man or beast at arm’s length so she searched until she found a piece of timber heavy enough for her purpose. An écorcheur might scoff, but carrying it bucklered the meagre confidence left to her. With silent prayer and courage screwed tight, she began her descent. The woodland skills she had learned as a villager must serve her now—how to place her feet without the telltale crack of twig; how to silently glide between the trees.
Listening at every step lest the brigands were still in the valley, she found the deer path once more and followed it down the hillside. As the ground evened, she slid through the shadows with increased wariness, pausing for longer and longer behind the stoutest trees.
The heavy buzz of flies warned her she was near the clearing. The first corpse, one of the men-at-arms, lay face down where the horses had been tethered. He must have been on sentry duty. His neck was a collar of blood, his body had been stripped of weapons and chainmail, and … Staunching her nausea, she leaned her forehead against the nearest bark. Where was God’s compassion to permit such brutality? Around her the woods stood indifferent to the evil perpetrated here; the birds’ piping seemed irreverent above such carnage. But there was no time to squander on philosophy. Gripping her makeshift weapon, she crept forward, each step a careful footfall upon the mesh of ivy and rotting boughs.
Alys’s chariot lay without wheels on its side. Her kirtles and linens, ripped and trampled, were scattered among the trees. All else: wagons, horses, pack ponies, had been thieved, and charred remnants devastated the centre of the campsite where the tents had stood. Stripped bodies, some burned, some mauled, lay silent in sunshine beneath the clouds of insects. Two ravens were already pecking at someone’s eyes.
Adela clapped a hand to her mouth as the horror sent her staggering back. To investigate the dead meant crossing the open glade, but she could not do it, did not want to see the frozen agony on their faces, give them their names. Her body spasmed. She tried not to retch, desperate to make no sound. And then she heard the crackle of twig and froze. Someone was coming for her.
Slowly she backed, holding her cudgel in both hands, watching every bush for a tremble of leaf and then her heel came up against—
Another body.
With a sob, she turned abruptly.
It was Maud’s friend, Emmott. His back rested on a bier of ferns. His eyes were shut. Hardly daring to take her gaze from the bushes around her, she stole a second look. No visible wounds. He was still fully clad in his brigandine. Dead or …
Still clutching her weapon, she crouched beside him. With her free hand, she fumbled blindly for his neck pulse; his skin was cold, lifeless. With a muffled sob, she started to rise, but a glint of metal caught her attention. His dagger must have tumbled from his clasp. As she reached out to seize it, a hand grabbed her shoulder. She nearly screamed in shock as Maud hunched down beside her.
Lady Alys’s green silken gown was draped incongruously about the laundry woman’s neck, a crossbow dangled from her shoulder and her fist was clutching the corner of a loaded waistcloth. Tear stains rivuleted her plump cheeks, withered leaves and earth clung to her tousled sandy hair and her hazel eyes were dazed with shock like a lamb whose mother had been taken for slaughter.
‘Maud.’ As her heartbeat slowed, Adela almost wept with relief. ‘The Lord God be praised for your deliverance.’
‘I don’t think His Almightiness had aught to do with it. Oh, chick, I thought there was just me left.’ Her rough palm touched Adela’s cheek as if like Doubting St Thomas she needed proof. Then with a sob, she reached out to ruffle her dead lover’s hair. ‘Oh, Emmott, you daft fool.’
‘I’m so sorry, Maud. Is no one else …?’
‘All dead! Every last jack of ’em.’
‘Lady Alys—I … I saw …’ Adela swallowed and nodded towards the charred bodies. Her conscience was telling her she must do something, cover them, some last rite or—
‘No!’ Maud grabbed her arm. ‘Spare yourself! I seen ’em. There’s naught you can do.’ She gulped back tears as she stroked the green kirtle. ‘All that’s left, see. Gave it me last night to get rid of a stain. Oh, the poor soul!’
Adela pulled away, glancing nervously about. ‘I think we should go.’
‘Wait, can you say a prayer proper like, you being a priest’s daughter? Please!’ There was such pleading in the woman’s voice, how could she refuse? But the Latin phrases came haltingly. She kept the prayer brief. Poor Emmott’s spirit would not thank her for keeping his woman in danger. ‘We mustn’t stay longer,’ she whispered urgently, touching her friend’s arm.
Maud wiped her sleeve across her upper lip and plucked up her waistcloth. ‘I scavenged what I could but it ain’t much.’
‘Tell me later. Up the hill. Follow me.’ Something in Maud’s waistcloth clanged as the woman stumbled to her feet. Adela steadied her with a stern face. ‘Move softly, for the love of Christ. If anything rattles, cast it away now!’
The woman defiantly altered her hold on the waistcloth and despite her heavier weight, she followed, as soft-footed as a cat. Nor were words spilled heedlessly between them. Pausing now and then, they listened for a betraying snap of stick or sudden wing clap of a startled pigeon.
At the worst, Adela hoped to hear an enemy before he rushed them; at the best, one of the horses might have evaded capture. But she was angry with herself that Maud had managed to creep up on her. How would they survive if the écorcheurs were on their trail?
Halfway up the hill, a crack of bough startled them. They threw themselves down in panic and then sighed in relief as a doe broke cover.
‘I hope no one else heard the wretched beast,’ grumbled Maud. ‘I ain’t easily made for hiding.’
Adela pressed a reassuring hand upon hers, though she knew the laundress might be a great deal thinner by the time they escaped these endless woods. If they escaped.
Maud started to scramble to her feet but Adela stopped her. One question could not be held back longer. ‘Are you truly sure no one else survived?’
‘Yes.’ Certainty firmed Maud’s voice.
‘But you did.’
‘Aye, I did, but then Emmott …’ The woman’s voice shook. ‘Em and I had slunk off for … for some dalliance, Lord forgive us! But when we heard the attack, Em told me to hide and he went back … s-s-silly fool.’ She thrust a hand across her mouth to stifle her grief. ‘And you, what happened?’
‘I was awakened in my lady’s tent when the guy ropes were slashed. Ferrer pulled me out. Maud, that poor man, he helped me because he thought I was Lady Alys, and I was only there because Herliva was nursing the wounded. God save her soul! I hated her, but I would not have wished her dead.’
‘Same here. I heard ’er scream and then naught. I reckon them brigands were watching us for hours before they attacked.’
‘Why didn’t they take my lady for ransom? Surely the vicomte would have bought her freedom?’
‘Didn’t expect to find ’er in Sir William’s tent, I guess.’ She gul
ped back tears. ‘Nah, noblewomen are too much bother. Thems was after the horses and the armour.’
‘And her dowry.’
‘Ha, they’ll be disappointed. ’Er chests went a different way. Strategy, see. My lord the King’s orders. Already at Mirascon, I’ll wager.’ That was news to Adela. Had she followed the dowry escort when she took the wrong road outside Bordeaux? ‘But my lady did ’ave ’er jewels with her,’ Maud continued. ‘Give my right hand for ’em now, I would. Hope them e-coshers didn’t toast any of the poor wretches’ feet to find ’em.’
Adela bit her lip. She needed to retrieve the casket, but that meant telling Maud. ‘What else did you scavenge?’ she asked later, halting as she espied her cote.
The laundress shrugged and unloaded her waistcloth onto the ground. Her treasure contained six crossbolts and a hunting knife. Excellent! And my lady’s gilded ivory comb? Well, maybe they could exchange it for food. The silken kirtle would be no use to anyone unless they reached a city. But, of course, Adela did have the jewels.
Maud’s mouth fell as wide as a nesting hole as she watched Adela unearth the casket and tip its contents onto the silken kirtle: several rings, the silver coronet, two sets of earrings and one amulet.
‘Glory be! You cunning shrew! So we sell ’em, yes?’
‘And be hanged for it, Maud? I do not think so.’ Adela slid on a ring of silver and pearl. It twinkled richly, tempting her soul. Aloud she said, ‘See I have not the white hands of my lady. We cannot just go strolling into some gold merchant’s shop dressed like we are. They’d send for the sheriff in no time.’
‘Ah, but they wouldn’t if you were wearing this finery and you had your hair dressed proper like.’ Maud poked out the largest of the rings. It refused to slide over even her smallest finger joint, so she held it out to Adela. ‘I’d put ’em all on if I was you. Easier to carry.’
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