“But won’t that seem strange, if he’s ill?”
“Don’t say he is. Marie and that page know that he was well earlier. I’ll go down and tell the men that he’s had a seizure or something, then I’ll speak to them while you stay here. I’ll bring some medicines up with me later and we’ll send for gruel from the kitchen. Will you help me, Jean Paul? I can’t do it without you.”
“Of course I will, my lady. You can rely on me.”
“Thank you.”
When the squire had left, Catherine pulled the cushions off the well again and peered anxiously down it. Was he safe? Was he drowned? How she wished she could know. When Jean Paul returned, she asked him to wait outside for a moment while she dropped the seat back into its place. He must either have got through or be unable to return by now, she was sure of it.
Radenoc’s best soldiers were confident of their ability to defend the castle, despite their lord being ill. Weapons had been sharpened, guards had been posted all along the battlements; everything was ready.
“Has Gilles sent any message?” Catherine asked.
“No, my lady. He seems to be just sitting down and waiting.”
“Who’s with him, do we know?”
They didn’t but agreed that there were a lot of them and some were undoubtedly foreign.
“Have any villagers been hurt? Have you heard from the priest?”
“Father Alain’s here, my lady,” Guillaume Rénard told her, “and many folk from Kerhouazoc.”
“I’m glad,” she said, relieved. “What about the people from Lanhalles?”
“They don’t mix with castle folk, my lady, you know that.”
“I’d better go out and welcome everyone.”
There was a seething bustle of people and animals in the courtyard. Catherine spotted Farzel Le Goff and went to across to him.
“I’ve had them building the fires up to heat oil and tallow to pour on the bastards,” he said, rubbing his hands and beaming.
“Well done. Have you seen Marie? She won’t like the sound of that.”
“Silly wench!” said her father. “I don’t know what’s up with her. At least Yon knows whose side to be on.”
Blushing, and remembering, Catherine left him and went to speak to others. Having left orders that everyone should be fed and made as comfortable as possible, she eventually returned to the Western Tower and her nagging worry about Raoul.
She insisted that Jean Paul brought his mattress upstairs and put it on their floor. She then barred the door and lay down fully dressed on the bed, not expecting to sleep. She not only slept; she dreamed. She was climbing down the well shaft, into a terrifying blackness, her heart thumping, her hands sticky with fear. The opening was getting narrower and narrower, changing direction, becoming horizontal instead of vertical. Then it was blocked and the water was gushing in. It was up to her knees, up to her thighs; it had reached her chest, her mouth, her nose. She screamed and woke up soaked with sweat.
“My lady, are you all right?” It was Jean Paul, sounding anxious, standing over her.
“Oh, yes. I was dreaming. It’s all right.”
She got up, pacing agitatedly around the room. What if Raoul had come back and had been trapped there in the well shaft, unable to get out into the room? What if he had fallen? She was tempted to lift the cover off, to see. No, it was absurd. He couldn’t have. She must stay calm.
After that she didn’t sleep again. She tried think about how it would be when Raoul returned and they could be happy together. But she couldn’t. She wanted him there, now, in her arms; she was terrified that he was dead, drowned, and that she would never see him again.
In the morning she determinedly set her fears aside. She sent for suitable dishes from the kitchen, managed to eat a little herself, then went down to discuss the situation with the captain. She reported that Raoul was perhaps a little better but still too weak to leave his bed.
“I think you should start having stores moved to the undercroft of the Western Tower, my lady,” Renard said gravely when he had heard her news.
“Why?”
“Well look.” He gestured to the walkway between the main keep and the furthest tower. “If this part of the castle’s taken, you can throw down the wall, there, and that part remains almost impregnable. You can cut if off from the rest, you see.”
“What about water?”
“I always understood there was a well, my lady.”
Catherine looked at him.
“Yes,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, “there is. But we couldn’t get a tenth of these people into that one tower.”
“I know, Lady Catherine. Choices would have to be made.”
“What makes you think we’re going to need to take such drastic measures? You said nothing about this yesterday.”
“We didn’t know then about these.”
He led her to the steps beside the North Tower and guided her up to the parapet.
In the enemy camp there were two huge contraptions. One consisted of a giant tree trunk, laid on enormous rollers; the other was a strange sort of tower with what looked like a gigantic sling shot suspended from its centre.
“What are they?”
“They’re siege engines – bigger and better than any I’ve ever seen, though I imagine Lord Raoul came across them in the Holy Land.”
“But where did they come from?”
“They’ll have brought the wood with them on the ships – there’s no trees of that size round here. My lady, the gates of Radenoc are stout but they won’t stand much battering by that thing. And see the stones there? They can lob them over the walls easily with the other – and not just stones either. Lord Gilles sent a message a while ago saying they’ve something he called ‘Greek fire’ and asking whether we wanted to surrender before they use it. He says we’ve got until mid-day. You’d best go and ask your husband what we should do. And if he wants to fight, we’d best move all folk from Kerhouazoc into safety without delay.”
Catherine thought for a moment, looking down at the bustle of the enemy camp below.
“Raoul wouldn’t want to sacrifice innocent lives,” she said. “Someone must speak to Gilles and negotiate terms of surrender.”
“You may be right, my lady, although it must be Lord Raoul who makes the decision. Who should do it, though? I’d go of course, if you wished me to, but do you think Gilles is to be trusted?”
“No I don’t,” Catherine said. “That’s why I shall go myself: as well as being Raoul’s wife, I am Lord Armand’s daughter.”
Chapter Nineteen
“My husband wishes me to negotiate terms for surrender,” Catherine announced an hour later to the commanders of the castle garrison whom she had summoned to the solar.
There was a murmur of discontent and looks were exchanged by several of the knights.
“How sick is Lord Raoul?” someone asked, voicing the fear of many.
“Weak,” Catherine said, “but a little better than he was.”
“If he’s not likely to die, why the devil isn’t he telling us to fight?” demanded a tall bearded man.
“We’ve beaten Gilles before,” someone pointed out.
“And no-one wants him back,” said one of the local men.
“Come on, gentlemen,” Guillaume Rénard protested, “you’ve seen those siege engines. What defence can there be against them? Not to mention this ‘Greek fire’, whatever it is.”
“I’ve seen that in the Holy Land,” an older man said. “And I know what it does.” He shuddered.
“Yes,” Catherine insisted. “Lord Raoul doesn’t want people to die needlessly. If I can agree with Gilles that the garrison and the villagers may leave unharmed, it will be much the best thing.”
“Who will it be best for, though?” Connell demanded, pushing his way through to confront Catherine. “You’ve always been against Raoul. You could simply be inventing all this, fobbing us off with some story that isn’t what Raoul wants at
all. We’ve only your word for it.”
“Don’t you trust me?” Catherine demanded indignantly.
“No, I don’t.” He leaned forward and whispered quietly, “And I’ve good reason not to, if you recall.” Catherine went red. “Let me speak to him.”
“No. He’ll speak to no-one but me or Jean Paul d’Auray.”
“Look, if we fight, more than half of those within Radenoc’s walls are bound to die, one way or another,” Guillaume Rénard was saying. “Let Lady Catherine talk to Gilles at least, find out his terms.”
“Who’s to say he’ll honour them?” came a scathing voice.
“If we don’t like what he says, we don’t have to accept,” Catherine said indignantly.
There was a silence as each man pondered the alternatives.
“But why should you go out to speak to him?” Connell objected after a moment.
There were various muttered comments about what women should or shouldn’t do before Catherine spoke again, angrily.
“Why should Gilles trust any of you?” she demanded. “He knows that you are Raoul’s best men, or turn-coats, or total strangers. I’m his sister but he knows nothing at all about my feelings. I could be a captive, Raoul’s bitterest enemy...”
“Yes,” Connell agreed softly.
“But Gilles has nothing to fear from me – nor I from him.”
“If we send a herald out, it certainly must not seem like any sort of threat,” the bearded man agreed.
“But sending a lady...” another protested.
“You’d rather we sent a squire or a page, would you?”
They were all silent again, remembering Gilles’s sexual preferences.
“How do we know that you’ll return? That you won’t simply stay there with him?” Connell demanded.
“It’s a chance you’ll have to take.”
“We can’t afford to take chances.” Connell was adamant. “What guarantee can you offer that you’ll come back?”
“Gently, lad.” Rénard put a restraining hand on Connell’s shoulder. “That’s no way to speak to a lady.”
“Even if she could betray us all?”
“How far can you shoot an arrow from the castle walls?” Catherine asked hotly of the assembled knights.
“A hundred paces, perhaps a little more,” someone answered. The others nodded.
“Very well then. I promise to you that I’ll go no more than seventy paces out. Keep the best archers trained on me, all the time. If you’re at all doubtful, you may shoot. I’m sure Gilles will wear a mail shirt to protect himself against your arrows.”
Somewhat dubiously, after further discussion, they agreed.
Catherine ran back up to the tower, ostensibly to inform Raoul what was happening. In fact she wanted to warn Jean Paul to keep the door barred until her return. Connell was suspicious, she knew.
Before very long, she was down in the courtyard, shaking with cold and fear. She wore only a simple, pale woollen gown and someone had found a white pennant for her to carry. She felt very small and very vulnerable as she crossed the footbridge and heard it crash shut behind her. She could almost feel the arrows trained on her back as she counted out her seventy paces then stood waiting until someone from the enemy camp was sent to speak to her.
The person they sent was Thierry.
“Lady Catherine!” he exclaimed, visibly shocked. “You didn’t get away!”
Catherine gave a faint smile.
“I tried. But they found me.”
The boy looked older, broader, sun-tanned – he was almost a man.
“Are you well?” he asked her anxiously.
Despite the warning he had given her, she daren’t trust him.
“I’ve been...very unhappy. How’s Simon?”
Thierry grinned broadly.
“Flourishing.”
“Is he here?”
“Oh yes. Is that what you’ve come for?”
“No. I’ve come to speak to Gilles, to agree terms with him.”
“Fancy them sending you!” Thierry exclaimed, disgusted. “I’ll tell him.”
“He mustn’t bring anyone else with him,” she insisted, all too aware of those watching her from above, bows drawn. “Not even Simon. But give him my love.”
Thierry said nothing more, but a short while later a thick-set figure emerged from the throng of tents and equipment. As Catherine had expected, he wore a full suit of chain-mail, a close fitting helmet and he carried a sword. He was taking no chances. Her mouth went dry as he strode up to her, halting a couple of paces away.
“Well, Catherine? What have you to say to me? Is the bastard willing to forgo his claim?”
“I have not come here to bring terms from Raoul de Metz,” Catherine said quietly, gripping her hands together tightly as Gilles frowned and exclaimed angrily. “That was my excuse to speak to you. I have come to beg you to punish my enemy.” She kept her eyes lowered.
Gilles took a step closer to her.
“Are you talking about Raoul?” he said suspiciously.
“Yes.” It came out as a choked whisper.
“But I was told that you’d married him.”
“They gave me no choice.” By a huge effort of will she remembered how she had felt. Tears rose in her eyes and there was loathing in her voice. “He raped me,” she said.
Incredibly, Gilles laughed.
“So much for your precious virtue!” he sneered.
It was not difficult now for her eyes to be full of anger and hatred.
“I want him dead,” she whispered.
“That’s easily arranged. Offer them any terms you please. Just get them to come out of there and lay down their arms and then we’ll tear them to pieces.”
Catherine shook her head, dissatisfied.
“No, that won’t do,” she said. “I want him to die, alone, at your hands. Could you not challenge him to single combat?”
“And risk my own life?” He gave a snort of laughter. “What sort of fool do you think I am?”
“Gilles,” she began hesitantly, “there is a way that you could kill him, just for me – a perfect way.”
“How? Where?” His eyes gleamed.
Catherine moved closer to him.
“For the past two days Raoul has been sick – and I am making sure that he gets no better.”
“You’re giving him poison?”
“Not exactly.”
“You don’t need me, Catherine. Brew up a lethal potion and finish him off yourself. You’d do us both a favour.”
“I want his blood, Gilles. I want to see it stain the bed that he defiled.”
“Well, well, well. You are our father’s daughter, after all.”
“Yes,” Catherine agreed. “I must be. More than anything else I want revenge. But I’m a woman and weak.” It was easy to sound bitter – she hated saying it. “I haven’t the strength or the courage to stick a knife in him myself. Besides his devoted squire would defend him – he never leaves his side.” Gilles was interested now, she could tell. “It would be so easy for you,” she insisted. “If you could come up to the Western Tower, in the dead of night, you could kill him then, couldn’t you? A mere boy could not protect him.”
“Certainly I could kill him. And a little more besides.” His smile was pure evil.
“The trouble is, how could you get in?”
She stared at him with what she hoped looked like naive anxiety, praying he would think of the postern, know where to find the key. Gilles hesitated, deep in thought and Catherine glanced nervously behind her.
“I must go back or they’ll be suspicious,” she said. “Can you do it? Please, please say that you’ll help me.”
Gilles gave a triumphant grin.
“Nothing could be easier.” Speaking as if Catherine was a dim-witted child, he told her about the postern gate, explained where the key had been kept when he had used the room in the Western Tower, and told her at what hour she must let him in.
&n
bsp; “Thank you, thank you,” she breathed, hatred almost choking her. “But what if the key has been moved? I’ve never noticed it there.”
“How like a woman to look for difficulties! If you can’t find the key, you’ll have to kill him yourself.”
“I’ll look most diligently.” She attempted to smile gratefully. “Farewell, until tonight,” she whispered.
As Gilles turned and walked away, Catherine could see a small figure which could only be Simon standing beside Thierry and frantically waving to her. She longed to run and scoop him up in her arms but she merely raised her hand to him in greeting then she turned and retraced her steps.
“What did he say?” Guillaume Rénard demanded as soon as she emerged from the gate-house.
Catherine took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. “We have until tomorrow noon to consider his terms,” she said.
“Which are?”
“I will discuss them with Lord Raoul.” Her haughty tone brooked no argument. “In the meanwhile, put double the number of men on the battlements and have everyone ready to repel an attack if necessary. It’s possible that he may go back on his word.”
“Very wise, my lady.”
She must make sure they were all busy and out of her way. And besides, she really didn’t trust Gilles.
“Father Alain wants to speak to you, my lady,” said Leclerc, the steward, emerging from the Hall as she crossed the courtyard. “He’s concerned about one of the village children. He’s in the stables, I think.”
“Tell him I’ll see him later,” Catherine said. “And Leclerc, I want a good hearty pottage prepared tonight for everyone. Let them eat well while they can.”
“Yes, my lady.”
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