The sudden rush of cool air set the torch flame wildly flickering. Catherine took a steadying breath and looked out, cautiously. Beyond the doorway there was darkness and silence. Was he there? Had she been so delayed by her struggle to open the door that he had given her up and gone? She took a step forward and then cried out in alarm. There was only the narrowest of ledges then the ground fell away and from far below came the suck and surge of the sea.
“Shut your mouth, you stupid wench,” a low voice growled to her right. “You took your time!”
“Oh Gilles, thank God,” Catherine whispered shakily, retreating hastily into the narrow passage.
Wrapped in a dark cloak, Gilles stepped in through the door. Catherine felt a surge of relief but then, as another larger shape filled the opening behind her brother, she gasped in horror. It had never occurred to her that Gilles might not come alone. Not for a second had she thought that he might bring Tugon Bellec.
Chapter Twenty
Intent only upon murder, the two men strode off down the passageway, paying no heed to Catherine. She hastily slammed the door and turned the key in the lock. No other unwelcome visitors would gain access to Radenoc that night, not if she could help it. Once the door was shut, she hurried after them.
What should she do now? Should she call the guard? If she tried to do so, she suspected that Gilles would make sure she was killed before anyone could reach them. She would just have to hope that Yon had found some good stout men to help him. Perhaps she could call out a warning as they entered the tower room.
Desperately, praying that her plan could still succeed, she followed the two men across the dark courtyard – where they made no attempt to creep silently – through the sleeping Hall and up the stairs of the Western Tower. The sound of their booted feet had dispelled any lingering sense of watchfulness. They believed that they had nothing to fear: a sick man and a squire were easy prey.
The door of the tower room was open when Catherine reached the top of the stairs. She rushed in after them, the cry of warning dying on her lips as she saw, standing between the windows, not Yon or any other well-armed men, but Marie.
“She’s betrayed you, Lord Gilles!” the woman shrieked when she saw Catherine. “He’s gone down there!” She pointed at the uncovered opening of the well.
Catherine gasped as Gilles swung round to glare at her, the dagger glinting in his hand. Then, as if deciding on a more urgent priority, he leaped across the room. Marie threw herself forward, as if to help or embrace him, but Gilles thrust her aside and snatched a torch from the bracket behind her. Then without further hesitation, he clambered, cursing, downwards. Transfixed, knowing he was going to almost certain death, Catherine hardly dared to breathe.
A muffled groan from Marie drew her attention and she ran across to where the woman had fallen. Blood oozed steadily from a wound in her chest.
“Hurt ...” she muttered, trying to push Catherine away as she knelt and attempted to stop the flow of blood with ineffectual fingers.
“Don’t understand...” She groaned after a while and clutched at Catherine’s hands. “Always...loyal.”
“Marie, Marie,” Catherine cried. “I didn’t mean you to die!”
“You... were false,” she hissed. “I saw him...”
With a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sigh, Marie’s eyes closed and she lay still.
Oblivious to her surroundings, Catherine crouched over the dead woman’s body and wept.
“That’s enough!”
Catherine’s arm was seized and she found herself being pulled to her feet.
“You got away from me twice,” Bellec growled. “You’ll not do it again.”
As he had before, he wore a black pelt of fur instead of the usual tunic or jerkin. Its rank odour caught in Catherine’s throat as he crushed her against it. She screamed. One great paw fumbled at the neck of her gown then ripped it apart to expose her breasts. He lowered his head to nuzzle them and Catherine caught a handful of his greasy hair, tearing fiercely at it to try to pull him away. He guffawed, showing the rotted stumps of his teeth and enveloping her in the foulness of his breath. She screamed again.
“You can make as much noise as you want – it won’t worry me,” he said, grinning as he unlaced his britches.
Temporarily freed, Catherine shrank away, trembling. Almost playfully, he raised his hand and cuffed her, the blow rocking her head on her shoulders and momentarily blurring her vision. She staggered and would have fallen but he caught her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall.
Once there, he held her motionless, one huge hand against her throat. With the other hand he roughly pushed up the skirt of her gown and forced her legs apart, positioning himself ready to thrust.
At the moment when Catherine expected to feel him enter her, a look of almost comical surprise crossed Bellec’s engorged features. His grip on her slackened, then he slumped forward and slowly crumpled to the ground. Catherine found herself facing Connell, a huge blacksmith’s hammer, bloodied, in his hands.
“Oh God,” she cried, hardly daring to believe the evidence of her own eyes. “Oh my God! Is he dead?” She began to shake, clutching the front of her gown together.
“I should think so,” said Connell cheerfully. “I’ve crushed his skull for him! Here, Lady, it’s all right!”
Catherine, hysterical with shock and relief, stumbled sobbing over Bellec’s lifeless body and almost fell into Connell’s outstretched arms.
Later, when she was calmer, Connell helped her to sit down on the bed.
“But I don’t understand why you are here,” Catherine said. “Or what happened to Yon. How could he have failed me?”
Connell sat on the floor by the bed side. “What had you arranged with him?”
“He and two or three others were to be here when Gilles came. There’s been no sign of him.”
“Where is Gilles?” asked Connell anxiously, looking round. “And where, for that matter, is Raoul?”
“I think Gilles must be dead!” Catherine felt tears, unaccountably, welling up in her eyes. “I hope that Raoul isn’t.”
“And was your signal to Gilles a lighted lantern on the tower roof?”
“No, that was my signal to Yon. He was going to have killed him – but now the sea’s done it instead.”
“Catherine,” Connell got awkwardly to his feet, “I’ve done you an injustice. I didn’t trust you, I admit it, so I came up here earlier tonight and hid behind that little door where the steps lead up to the roof. I watched you go up there – and I put out your light. Yon wouldn’t have seen it – it was gone in a moment. He didn’t fail you. It was me that spoiled your plan – and I’m sorry.”
Catherine turned her face away.
“It’s better this way,” she whispered. “Now it’s no one’s sin, not even mine. It wasn’t fair of me to burden Yon, because I was too weak to kill him myself.”
“But where is Raoul?” Connell demanded. “And where’s his squire? If anyone should have fought against Gilles it was them.”
Listlessly, Catherine explained. The terrors of the night seemed to have numbed her ability to care, about anything.
“Draw the curtains,” she said finally to Connell. “It’s strange, but I feel I could sleep.”
“I’ll get someone to take these away.” He indicated to Marie’s and Bellec’s lifeless bodies.
“No, leave them for now. Please stay with me. Because of Gilles. I don’t think he can come back – but just in case. Promise me that you’ll stay.”
“I promise. Try to sleep now, Catherine.”
It was just growing light when she sat up with a start, remembering.
“Connell?”
“I’m here, Lady.”
He parted the curtains and handed her a cup of water, poured from a jug on the table.
“What should I do? Should I tell the others now that Raoul has gone and that...that Bellec, and Gilles, are dead?”
“I think yo
u must. And we should tell the enemy forces too – invite them to surrender before Raoul and the Count of Léon get here.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’ll gather the leaders in the solar. Cover the well, Connell, would you – and get someone to take the bodies away now. Poor Marie should have a decent burial when it’s possible.”
Trying not to look at the gruesome sights in the tower room, Catherine straightened her crumpled garments and went down to the courtyard. She sent word to the leaders that they should meet her in half an hour but first she needed to speak to Yon. She drew him into a quiet corner of the courtyard and explained what had happened.
“I reckoned you’d thought the better of it an’ I was glad,” Yon told her. “I’d got two stout lads from Kerhouazoc standing by but I hadn’t told ‘em what for. I suppose you should ‘ave confided in Con – after what ‘appened on Melgorn, he was bound to’ve been suspicious.”
“I’m so sorry about your sister.”
Yon sighed and shook his head.
“She would never believe any harm of Lord Gilles, whatever anyone told her. I reckon he convinced her himself, in the end.”
“Poor Marie. It was a hard way to learn a lesson. I blame myself.”
“There’s no need. I just pray Raoul gets ‘ere soon before there’s any more bloodshed.”
“Amen,” Catherine said.
The leaders of the castle garrison were at first incredulous and then jubilant at the news she gave them. Deliberately, she said as little as possible about how the deaths had been achieved, refusing to answer their many questions.
“You should have told us, my lady,” Guillaume Rénard said gravely. “It was courageous but foolhardy to plot such killings alone.”
“The fewer knew of it, the more chance there was of it succeeding. I didn’t want anything to alert Gilles or put him on his guard.”
“But you could have been hurt.”
“If it hadn’t been for Connell I would have been.” Catherine shuddered. “I would rather not dwell on how lucky I was.”
It was agreed that a herald must bear the news to the enemy but this time it was Connell rather than Catherine who went out to speak to the besiegers. Watching from the battlements by the main gate, Catherine saw Thierry, again, walk out to parley. At such a distance it was impossible to know what was being said but Gilles’s squire appeared to be shaking his head in disbelief at what he was being told. When Connell returned, he confirmed that this was so. Thierry appeared to believe that his master was indestructible and infallible. The youth had been told by his master that Gilles and Bellec would be absent overnight but that the garrison of Radenoc would surrender in the morning. Nothing would shake his conviction that that, really, was what Connell had been sent to say.
Once Connell had returned, at his suggestion, two look-outs were posted on the top of the Western Tower, in addition to those already set around the battlements. From there it was possible to keep a broader watch over the enemy’s actions and it would also be possible to spot Raoul’s approach from a greater distance.
Shortly after mid-day, a cry went up from the sentries above the gate-house. A swarm of figures had surrounded the great battering ram and it was starting to move in their direction. Archers were told to prepare their bows. Some tipped their arrows with rags soaked in pitch, and braziers were set alight on the walls so that the arrows could be lit. The women and children from Kerhouazoc were shepherded by Catherine onto the walk-way between the keep and the Western Tower into which they could easily run to safety, should it prove to be necessary.
While she knew that she must, Catherine found it agonising to have to stay there, safely, away from the action. She knew that endangering herself would only put others at greater risk and that she would be in the way on the battlements – but she longed to know exactly what was happening. Eventually she could stand it no longer and, struggling against her terror of being in high places, crept out onto the roof of the tower where at least, hugging the cold but solid stone of the parapet, she could see what was going on.
Like a many-legged insect, the great tree-trunk was moving inexorably closer. The castle’s defenders waited, silently. Then, as soon as they were within range, a hail of arrows showered down on the enemy soldiers. Undeterred, they moved on, protected by helmets and mail-shirts or jerkins – at this distance it was impossible to see which although the colours on some of the tunics identified them as Kerboul of Penmarch’s men. They had crept a few yards closer when the first burning arrows hit them. This time, their reactions were much more dramatic. The ram stopped moving and men panicked as their clothing caught alight. A horn sounded and others came forward to take the places of the injured men. Again, the Radenoc bowmen allowed them to get a little closer – perhaps suggesting that their supply of arrows was exhausted – before unleashing another torrent of flaming darts onto the unprotected enemy. This time, despite a rider – Lucien Kerboul himself, by the look of him – trying to rally the men, they fled and the ram was abandoned some fifty yards from Radenoc’s gates.
A cheer went up from the walls and Catherine ran down to tell the Kerhouazoc women that the enemy, at least for the time being, had been routed. While she joined in with the rejoicing, a new fear, for Simon’s safety, was beginning to grow in her heart. Would Gilles have persuaded the boy to regard his sister as his enemy? Had he been part of that attack? Had Thierry? Although the youth seemed at present to be loyal to Gilles, he had tried to help her once and she was sure that he was not fundamentally corrupt.
Later in the afternoon a report came from the watchers on the tower that a substantial proportion of the enemy army had returned to their ships and set sail. Catherine longed to know who they had been and whether they had taken Simon with them. As darkness fell, the greatly reduced number of camp fires visible from the castle proclaimed the much diminished size of the besieging forces.
“Should we ride out and attack them at first light, my lady?” Guillaume Rénard asked Catherine as they shared a meal in the solar. Another hearty pottage – this time without added ingredients – had been prepared. “Their numbers are such that we should win an easy victory.”
“I’d rather wait to see if Raoul comes,” Catherine said. “It may be that something has happened to him.” Her fears were starting to recur – perhaps no-one could go through the tunnel and survive. “If he has not come by mid-day then you may lead an attack whenever you wish.” As she said it she was unsure whether it would be better if Simon was still with them or if he had been carried to safety by the deserters.
That night Catherine lay down in Simon’s old bedroom, lovingly prepared for him by poor Marie. Although the well opening had been covered and the floor cleaned of blood-stains, she could not bring herself to lie again in the tower room until Raoul returned. She set a guard outside its door and asked one of the Kerhouazoc women – a recently married girl called Annie Le Guen who was terrified of Gilles and his forces, to sleep in Simon’s room with her. Catherine found that soothing Annie’s fears helped to allay her own. Being in Simon’s room also helped Catherine to feel that her brother must surely still care for her – he had waved to her enthusiastically only a couple of days ago, after all.
Despite having a companion and knowing that she should try to be calm and optimistic, Catherine, nagged by all her fears and doubts, was unable to sleep. Dawn found her sitting in the window, listening to the sound of the sea and praying again for Raoul’s safe return. Moments later she heard feet running along the passageway outside and then someone was pounding on the door.
“Come quickly, my lady!” the male voice called. “There’s such a sight to be seen.”
Catherine hastily unbarred the door and followed the sentry to the Western Tower, up the stairs and finally, out onto the roof.
The banners, shields and tunics of Léon glistened dazzlingly gold in the newly risen sun. But beside the Count, more splendid by far to Catherine’s eyes, was another unmistakeable figure – Raoul de Metz
, her husband.
Catherine gave a choked cry, almost a sob, as a wave of relief swept over her. She strained her eyes to see whether Jean Paul was recognisable anywhere but at this distance she couldn’t tell. A horn sounded and Léon’s army charged the unsuspecting remnants of Gilles’s force. Some attempted to fight but the numbers they faced were overwhelming and it soon became apparent who the inevitable victors would be.
Realising this, Catherine left the roof and ran down to the tower room. Steeling herself to open the door, to her surprise she found the room clean, pleasant and unthreatening. It was as if the events of two nights before had never happened. She dismissed the guard, telling him to go down and join the others in the courtyard. She then found the amber velvet gown, her best, and pulled it on. She unbraided her hair and brushed it hurriedly, then found a fine gauze veil which she secured with a bronze circlet. Inside her, excited anticipation at being re-united with Raoul warred with her fear for Simon’s safety.
Dressed as she hoped befitted the Lady of Radenoc, Catherine then hurried down into the main keep, taking her place at the top of the steps which led down from the Hall into the courtyard. She would be very dignified, she told herself. When Raoul had dismounted from his horse, she would walk down the steps and curtsy low before presenting him with a cup of the spiced wine which she had told them to prepare and which she had instructed a page to bring forward at the appropriate moment.
A horn sounded and they began to lower the draw-bridge. Catherine gripped her cold hands together and found that her legs were trembling. She tried to smile reassuringly to the page who stood with the jewelled cup held carefully and proudly in his hands.
Raoul emerged first from the gatehouse with Jean Paul just behind him to his left. Behind them rode Catherine’s uncle and his principal knights, their golden banners fluttering in the breeze. Longing to run headlong down the steps, Catherine forced herself to stand still. The man she saw on the chestnut horse reminded her of the one who had captured her six months before – he was unshaven, heavily armed, helmeted. Her heart somersaulted but she smiled, tremulously, and met his eyes.
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