by Mary Lide
'Stand off, Raoul of Sieux,' he said. 'I use your woman as buckler to test your skill.' And he laughed. Step-by-step he drew me back, his words echoing in this dark and narrow place, more like to tunnel than to lane, with walls that jutted out in damp, sharp points, I remember this distinctly now, although then I remembered nothing, only the hard cruel grip which moved to stop my mouth, the sword blade against my ribs, the panting whisper at my ear. The passage was some sort of forgotten way, I suppose, ancient, with houses built around and over it. It led directly to the city wall, where once perhaps there had been a main gateway. It was blocked now, or partly so, for suddenly, at the tunnel's end, a gap of light appeared where a heavy iron grill, recently forced out of place, was propped open with an iron bar. And on the other side of it was sunlight, open space, the sound of many men and horses moving freely about.
'A few steps more,' my captor breathed, confidence rising as he neared escape. His wine-hot breath scorched my cheek. 'We'll take you and him. And your gold to line our purse.' He snatched a look to judge how close. That look was his last. Even as I bit at the hand that held my mouth, Raoul leaped. Thrusting up with his wounded shoulder, he plunged his sword, left-handed, beneath my arm. I felt its passing on a rush of wind, felt it force through flesh and bone, heard the gasp, almost of surprise. The fellow tried one more time to get his own sword up, a gush of blood flooding us both. Yet even as he loosed his grip, even before he sagged to one side, Raoul leaped again, over him and over me, toward the open grille. There was a spate of shouts and yells as he began to drag it shut. A sword came snaking from the outside, raking along his leather coat; a shower of arrows hissed through the gap and fell upon the overhanging walls.
'Fools,' I heard a voice rasp out, as now both Raoul and I struggled with the bars, 'I gave no such command.' The voice was sharp like flint, it made me shiver to hear it.
Another man shouted, 'They are both here,' and we heard the rattle of swords unsheathed.
But the passage which had been too narrow for a group of men was an advantage to one. Raoul beat their swords back as he tried to wrestle the grille closed. It was too heavy for him to manage alone, too heavy for me to strain and heave. One of his men, bursting after him, drew it shut; together then he and Raoul could ram the beam across and notch it into place. On the other side, men thrust against it to force it loose, cursing viciously when it held firm. We heard them mutter and whisper outside the wall, then the creak of leather, the jingle of spurs, men mounting and galloping off, silence.
'Back, back,' Raoul now shouted to his men, pouring behind him into the alleyway. They are too many, our hope is the square else we be all trapped like a denned fox. Ann, can you walk, are you harmed? God's breath, I did not think them yet so close.' He tried to wipe the blood from my hands and face, a helpless gesture from a one-armed man, his own face lined with anger and concern.
I mouthed denial, too stunned to speak, my lips bruised from that merciless grip. And, to tell the truth, I was not even sure. Where I had fallen, been dragged, a soreness grew about my ribs and my breastbone ached. I was splattered with blood from head to foot. I felt I would never move again.
Aware of impending danger, still shouting orders for my comfort, Raoul thudded into the wider lane, snatched at the stallion's reins, and heaved himself up awkwardly, sleeving blood. Down he galloped toward the square. Another trooper, slower, took me up behind. I saw two more haul up Matt and Walter, both white-faced, half-conscious, scarce able to hang on. We clattered back, the bodies of those others rolling beneath our feet. Already the church bell was tolling its warning note.
In the square, confusion swirled, alarms, shouts. Our men left there had made a tight shield ring, facing out from the church steps. The merchants whose houses stood around the church had already flapped indoors; iron gates shot home. Wise citizens escaped when there was chance. A group of soberly dressed men in long cloaks began to bundle up their purchases, drifted off, melted into the small streets, and were gone. Overhead, the clapper of the bell swung to and fro as if it would break from its hold.
'Silence me that bell,' Raoul cried. He pivoted his black horse around, looking for bowmen, spearmen, on rooftop or church tower. 'Or hang me the man who pulls it.'
His seneschal, already mounted, came spurring up, still tying big leather bags to his saddle bow. Clutching him round the waist, the village spokesman tried to grin. 'At least they failed to get this,' he said, and shook the one he held so that it jangled merrily.
‘They may yet.' Raoul was grim. 'That was what they have been waiting for. Only someone sprang the trap too soon. Lady Ann, your squires were mad to walk that way, and yet, thank God, although I would not have used you as decoy, no lasting harm is done. Stay close where I can watch you myself. That trap is sprung, but they've still the means to set it again. More than we by threes and fours.’
He pivoted round. Above him, the bell clanged twice, then was silent. 'They'll wait,' he said, 'by the northern gate as we issue forth. Best place to catch us, pick us off with their cross-bows. We'll go by the southern gates. That route will be longer for us, but it will take them off their stride. Let them find us at the river ford or the woodland road, more space for us to form ranks. A group of Normans looking for easy wealth. But undisciplined. They broke their cover without command. Thank God, their slowness gave us speed. They'll not attack a group of trained knights.' I do not mean to say he said all this at once; round he pivoted to each man until all were mounted again, giving encouragement, advice, command, each to each so that everyone knew what was to be done, what expected, what feared. He had even time to smile encouragement at me. I thought, Trained men, yes, but few. There had been many men outside the wall. That flint-like voice would not brook another disobedience, and the longer we waited, the more time for another ambush.
'My lord, my lord.' One of his men came spurring back from the northern gate. 'The gates are closed but they are waiting outside the walls.'
I had a sudden vision, like a cold wave, of the line of black-horsed men bearing down among the cattle pens as we rode out.
There was another cry and we all swung round. On the southern side of the square, a group of men stood forth, not men-at-arms or knights, but townsfolk, and as we watched, more came to join their ranks. They stood in such a way, athwart the southern street, as to block all exit from the square. They were surly men, armed with staves of wood and knives, but resolute. Even as Raoul jarred up his arm to call a halt, their leaders moved to confront him.
'Who breaks the peace of our town,' they shouted, 'who rides through it to bloody our streets? Restitution must first be made. Leave by the nearest gate, to the north. Our streets are closed.'
'Christ,' I heard my trooper swear. 'By the bones of Christ, they look to drive us forth,'
The muttering grew. More men stepped out, legs apart, swinging their wooden staves, stout enough to break a man's head, strong enough to hurl and trip a horse. Even mounted men might be wary of them.
'Out, out,' some cried, 'out from our town. We'll not be party to your private quarrels.' And others, more loudly, 'The Count of Sieux has been gone too long and never given thought of us. We've no need of him,' while others, voicing perhaps their real hopes, 'Give us back our gold before you leave.' Raoul's face had paled beneath the brown; the white scar stood out like a cord. I heard our men suck in their breath. A shutter swung open overhead. 'Bad luck to you, sod you,' a woman screamed, and another tile or rock narrowly missed Raoul's back. Any moment now, violence would erupt.
'Where got you that word?' Raoul's voice was low, but not so low it did not carry through the square. 'Restitution, is it, that you want? Before God, you shall have full payment yet. Gold is it? You can have your bellyful.' Now he was a just man as you know. I have never heard him do or say an unfair thing, and a massacre of townsfolk would have never entered his mind, especially those whom he had long considered as his friends. But I saw the order form upon his lips. They had trapped him in, no way
out but to cut through them. I saw his men settle down to a charge, their lances grated on their saddle bows; behind him, his flag bearer broke his standard out, red and gold glinted the hawks with their cruel beaks and claws. Few foot soldiers can withstand a mounted charge, certainly not untrained men even as resolute and sturdy as these citizens. There could be no doubt in the end, we would ride them down. But the end for us would be as bitter as for them. For they had an advantage which they would use, the narrow streets down which a horseman could not pass. They would retreat and force us to fight through; step-by-step, we would have to hew and thrust. And even if we won to the southern gate, unless we went quickly, it would be too late. All those thoughts flashed through Raoul's mind. I read them as clearly as if they were my own. But again he had no choice. And the consequences also burst clear, like pain, red-hot and burning, before my eyes. I felt the flesh spill open to bone and blood; I felt the fierce grab of those steel spikes. And at the southern gate, waiting, waiting there for us, the dark mass of men and horses in unbroken line.
Men will die for you. But not this way, not now. 'No,' I think I said, 'Raoul, stop. There has been enough bloodshed as it is.'
He looked through me, a stranger who does not understand, battle lust so fierce in him that he was numb to all things else. Well, that too is the way of fighting men.
I thrust myself free from my trooper's arms until he let me down. I pushed my way outside the shield wall, advancing into the center of the square. Even the townsfolk quieted on seeing me. I had not thought how I must look, stained with other men's blood, drenched with it.
'Let God provide,’ I think I said. 'I will have no death upon my head. If they want me, here I am.'
And even as I spoke, I felt another thrust of pain, like to a spearpoint thrusting through. It weakened and tore. I felt myself bow to it, unknowingly. 'Let God provide,' I think I said. 'Here is your church behind our backs. I claim the right of sanctuary in the name of your saint, who is patron to all things lost and found. Let those who built your church and those who worship there honor its pledge.'
And a second wave, a new gush of blood, forced me to my knees, no weapon this to cause such pain, save only that which God uses against all womenkind when their time is come. Except I knew it untimely come, too soon, and fear gripped my vitals in a vice.
God, I think, put the thought and words into my brain, as he has done before, to save us. The right of sanctuary is as old as men, and few are so impious as to disdain its claim. Certainly not the townsfolk of Saint Purnace. As Walter had pointed out, they were no less superstitious than other men and they were proud of their saint and his miracles. To invoke his name was to touch upon their honor, too. And then, to condemn men to certain death was one thing; they might have watched Raoul and his men hacked down without remorse. To condemn a woman, great with child, is grievous sin, to cut off an unborn soul from grace is an offence to God; but to kill a woman at her birthing is an affront to God and man. When they realized what was happening to me, there, before their eyes, they might think again. All these ideas then, although perhaps without form, without name, made them hesitate. But there was one thing else that made them pause. As for its worth, count it more or less than these other reasons as your own tastes dictate. For, since in townspeople's affairs there are always factions, sides, old enmities waiting a chance, old quarrels rising afresh, a town quarrel was to rescue us.
A second group of men burst through the first, as resolute, as armed as the others were. 'Stand-back, masters,' their spokesman cried. A tall, broad-shouldered man he was, with calm face, short-cropped black beard, small, sharp eyes. His voice had an air of authority. He spoke out words as if they were made of stone, to be hewn in shape and made to last. 'You do yourselves harm,' he said, turning to face the mob, 'and those who urge you on are fools.'
The effect was like cold water flung. Those who before had cried the loudest now began to shout his name. 'Master Edward,’ they cried, 'Master Edward, our guild master. Hear him.' But others shouted, 'He and his stone workers have most to gain. Pay no heed but thrust Count Raoul out.' He held up his hand, imposing in his short fur-lined gown, not as long as a knight's, better made than a serf's, silver-belted about his broad waist. His men stood their ground behind him. I have seen Raoul's men stand thus to back their lord; these men would be as hard to budge.
'My lord Count,' he turned now to face Lord Raoul, 'my lord, although I think you have greater English titles that come not now to mind, many have been the prayers said in our church for your safe return. Saint Purnace is a free town; we are not part of your lord's domain, yet your forefathers since time began have been benefactors of our church and town. Disgrace it would be for us to betray you and your lady wife. The greater disgrace since we have had nothing but good from you.'
He swung back to face the townsfolk who listened to him, open-mouthed. 'And greater disgrace,' he roared at them, 'if we deny our patron saint. This church was of my father's make. I know every stone that houses the holy relics beneath the high altar. I helped cut and shape its tower. Now, by Saint Purnace, whom we all love and revere, shall we deny help to men sore pressed? You have all heard of the sack of Sieux. Those Angevin soldiers had no pity on the men they hanged. Shall we look for pity when we need it? I tell you plain, unless we are beasts, not men, we must help this lord and lady home. And I also tell you this. Unless we see Sieux rebuilt, we'll not rest easy in our fine, free town. Murder we'll have, and robbery, and knavery, creeping in to lure citizens to devil's work. On your knees, yourselves, that Count Raoul not thrust the truth of what I say through your spines. Peace brings prosperity to all of us, not more to one group than another one. It is the castle of Sieux that guards our peace.'
The whispers grew, ebbed away, one last attempt. 'We'll have no bastards born within our holy church..'
Now, during this talk, I had somehow managed to creep aside and found myself seated, I know not how, on the broad steps of the church. Someone had opened the doors and the cool air, dark and stale with incense, flowed about me where I sat. I had the impression of many tall pillars crowned with leaves, and long dim aisles, and at one end, a window that glowed with rose and gold.
Master Edward stretched out his hand. 'Bastard is it?' he questioned, suddenly sharp. 'The great Duke William was bastard born, yet he lived and died a king. I'd not throw that word for crows to eat.'
I think that he smiled. 'Come, lady,' he said, 'we'll bear you home.' His smile was gentle, his small eyes shrewd. I saw how his men ran to throw him a cloak; a boy led up his horse, leading it as if Master Edward was a knight, although he scrambled upon it as ungainly as a sack of wheat. I thought he turned and smiled again, showing yellow teeth.
'My lord Count,' he said, 'we had a meeting planned, you and I. Now, since our place of rendezvous has been disturbed and time is pressing for the lady here, perhaps we have your leave to take advantage of your protection back to Sieux.'
The look on Raoul's face changed; he almost laughed. 'Now by the Mass, Master Edward,' he said, 'you are a cunning man and wise. Protection is it that you seek? Rather I think you will protect us.' And he smiled. That rueful laugh, that smile, made others join in. Some men ran to fetch their own mounts, ponies for the most part and donkeys; others, still armed, came with us on foot. There was even a churchman or two issuing down the steps, carrying the blue banner of their saint, and a pax with a bone or so for extra help.
I sat in the cool shade, unable to move nor think, not even when Raoul himself rode up to the steps and looked down at me.
'What more's amiss?' he began. I almost laughed at him then for his blindness.
'Hurry, my lord,' Master Edward trotted past, 'if you would have your son born at Sieux.'
I looked at Raoul and he at me. His face had paled, all laughter gone. 'Is that so?' he almost whispered. 'I had not thought. Ann, I had not known. Dear God, forgive me. It is too soon . . .'
And I thought he said, almost too low for me to hear, 'Forg
ive me, Ann, that I take such poor care of you.'
And I, I thought I said, 'Raoul, acknowledge him, and love him well.' Another wave of pain from the belly burst up, drowned me in its aftermath so I cannot be sure we said anything at all.
Well, that is how we returned to Sieux, how we escaped despite all expectation of our loss. And that is how my son was born. All of France has heard the scandal of that birth. No hope then to hide an eight-month child after three months of marriage. Even a patron saint cannot claim such a miracle! Sometimes I think that much that was said and done that day took on a dreamlike feel, as if it happened to someone else. And sometimes too parts of it stand out so clear I can reach and touch them after so many years. There are two memories more that I will share with you, because they show how real, unreal, all things then became.