The four of them crossed the yard. Snow was falling in big fat flakes.
The feast hall was echoing to the rafters as they passed. Hildegard looked inside. Morcar and his men were there all right. Light spilled out across the snow and made the twirling flakes look like little moons.
“I could take a chance and go and search for Petronel,” remarked Ulf with a longing glance towards the stables.
“Later,” Hildegard told him. “Let’s solve one problem at a time. We may not get another chance like this. I know it may be nothing. The stash of feathers for the war arrows may be the most of it. At least let’s find out.”
“Did much gold change hands?” asked Hamo.
“So we imagine.”
He exchanged a look with Matt that Hildegard noticed but could not decipher.
Her misgivings returned. She had often felt doubtful about the masons in the past. They were clannish. As was to be expected from a guild as important as theirs, they had their secrets, with severe penalties for anyone who betrayed them. Their secrecy made them notorious in some circles. It was said they were like a realm within the realm, with no law but their own and answerable to no one but the Grand Master.
At present there was little choice but to accept them at face value. After all, it was Giles’s killer they hoped to apprehend, and Morcar and his secret dealings with Fulke seemed to hold a key to his death.
Ulf threw a few coins to the pages who were sleepily sitting on the steps, wrapped in their little cloaks. “Now then, young gentlemen,” he said, affable in the way he knew well how to be. “We’re here on important business on behalf of your master. Let us pass, like good fellows.”
The two moved over and Ulf led the way inside.
“You and Hamo keep the steward busy if he’s still around,” whispered Hildegard to Matt, who was following closely at her heels.
Morcar’s servants were out celebrating like everybody else. The apartment was empty except for an old woman asleep in a chair. They continued up to the next level.
“This is the door.” Hildegard indicated the one opposite the earl’s bedchamber.
Ulf took out a long, sharp-pointed knife. “Keep a lookout, you two,” he said to the masons as he set to work.
It took a while. Hildegard was on tenterhooks lest someone should hear them and come up to investigate.
At last, the lock softly turned. Ulf put his hand on the door ring. “I’ll go in first, just in case they’ve set a guard on the stuff.”
They waited a moment until he reappeared. His expression was impossible to read. “Hildegard, you’d better step inside. Lads, keep watch.”
Hildegard slipped through the half-open door, then came to a sudden halt. By the light of a single cresset, she saw a bed taking up most of the space in the small chamber. On it lay a girl. She appeared to be sleeping.
Hildegard glanced round. Not sure what she had expected—piles of bales as before, maybe sacks of body armour, or cases of steel weapons—she was confused.
She went over to have a closer look at the girl. “Do we have more light?” she whispered to Ulf.
He fumbled with tinder and a taper. The gold brilliance enveloped the sleeping form.
“She’s beautiful,” muttered Ulf. “Is this his betrothed?”
Hildegard was peering intently at the girl. When she did not stir, Hildegard reached forward and lifted one of her eyelids. She did not flinch. When Hildegard turned to Ulf, her expression was one of alarm.
Ulf understood at once.
“Drugged?”
“Is this how he intends to marry her?”
“But who is she? What is she?”
“We need not rack our brains to answer that one. She must be an heiress of some importance. Fulke up to his tricks. Morcar intent on ensuring his future.”
CHAPTER 27
“If we do carry her outside, we’ll surely be seen,” muttered Ulf. He glanced back at the girl. “But we can’t leave her here.” He was talking to himself.
“Remember how Morcar carried her in a cloak out of the tower? Stupidly, we thought it was war goods.”
“Are we sure about this, Hildegard? Is this what his purchase from Fulke amounts to? What if we’re making a mistake? We’ll pay a hefty penalty for abduction. Can’t we just stop the ceremony tomorrow if it seems to be going the wrong way?”
She reminded him of what Alys had told them. “This is a bigger prize than merely selling girls on to the town whoremasters.” She looked down at the girl again. “I wish she’d regain consciousness; then we could ask her where the marriage is to take place. If it’s in the private chapel here, we’d never be allowed in. No, she said decisively. “We’ve got to take the risk. We must get her out.”
“It may be aboveboard,” he muttered doubtfully. “Maybe she takes regular sleeping draughts. Maybe Morcar was smuggling something quite different out of the tower in the bundle we saw.” He spread his arms helplessly. “Don’t you have anything with you to bring her round?”
Hildegard was still wearing her scrip on her belt. “I wonder if—maybe…” She went over to the cresset and by its light opened up her leather bag of cures and searched through it. “I can do nothing without water,” she concluded.
“Let’s send Matt to the kitchen.”
“He’ll never manage to get back without arousing notice.”
“He has to.”
Ulf went to the door and invited the two men inside. “Drugged,” he told them. “We need water.”
“I’ll go,” Matt replied at once.
Hildegard exclaimed, “No, don’t bother! Look, just reach out to catch some snow. I can melt that in the palm of my hand and mix it with something I’ve got here. I just need to make a paste with it.”
They clustered round when Hildegard was ready. She tried once more to wake the girl by shaking her, but when that failed and she merely moaned and turned over, Hildegard slipped her arm under, the girl’s head and lifted her so that she could wet her lips with the concoction she had made up. The girl gave a shudder.
Slowly, her eye lids began to flutter. “No—” She put out a hand to ward something off. As she regained consciousness, she began to lash out with both fists, screaming, “No! Don’t—” Her breath became frantic and she struggled with an imaginary assailant until Hildegard, speaking as soothingly as she could, reassured her that she was with friends.
The girl opened her eyes and gazed round in confusion. They saw the film begin to clear from them. When she saw four strangers staring down at her, she put her hand to her mouth in fear. “Don’t hurt me!” She cowered back against the pile of silk pillows strewn across the bed.
Hildegard leaned forward. “Do you know where you are?”
“I am lost. I am lost forever. No one will ever find me.”
“You’re at a place called Kilton Castle. Do you know it?”
The girl shook her head.
“Do you know your name?”
“I’m—” She shook her head again, but this time in puzzlement. “My name, my real name, is Isabella. I live at Bowden Castle.”
It meant nothing to any of them.
“Is it in the border country?” Hildegard asked gently.
She nodded and her pupils dilated. “So much bloodshed. The horror! My dear father—” Her eyes filled.
In a sudden movement, she slipped of the bed and ran towards the door. Ulf reached out and caught her. She cowered in his arms. Terror made her open her mouth, but something forced the scream to remain silent. Ulf released her and she backed across the chamber until she felt the wall behind her, then she slowly sank to the floor.
Hildegard said in a commonsense tone, “We’re not here to harm you. We’re here to help. We believe you’ve been abducted and Earl Morcar intends to take you as his wife. Is that so?”
The girl nodded. Sobs began to rake through her. “He’s a monster.” Her glance swept from side to side. “Where is he? Is he coming back? Don’t let him take me—”
“We have to get her out of here,” said Ulf decisively.
Matt took off his cloak. “Wrap her in this. Let’s get out as quickly as we can.”
He was too late. Before he could put the cloak round the girl’s shoulders, a sound at the door made them all turn.
A short, fortyish, black-bearded man in an elaborate velvet capuchon sauntered in through the open door. He was smiling in triumph. “So what have we here? Four hanged persons and a ravished wife?”
His self-confidence came from the armed men in chain mail, wearing his colours, who followed him in. They had already drawn their swords.
The first man stepped forward with a pugilistic swagger. It turned to hesitation when Ulf drew his sword so quickly, it was no more than a blur of light.
“C’mon, fella, test my mettle!” called Ulf, beckoning with his left hand. Ignoring the other three men crowding into the chamber, Ulf lunged at the soldier, flicked his sword from his grasp, and gave a flashing smile. “Next?”
Needing no further invitation, the three men piled towards Ulf. Hildegard look over at Hamo. She had already noticed his legs, muscular from working the windlass. Now he put them to magnificent use. Jumping up to grasp the rafter above his head, he swung forward and aimed both heels hard into the chest of the nearest attacker.
The man fell back, winded, cannoning into the man behind him. Before they could recover, Ulf had disarmed the fourth and Matt, gaping for a moment, pulled his wits together and drew a lethal-looking stiletto from his belt, threw his cloak over Morcar’s head, and dragged him deeper into the chamber.
“Anybody make a move and your lord gets it in the neck!” he snarled, then added, “C’mon. Give me the pleasure!”
Aware of the cold steel pressed at his throat, Morcar made no effort to struggle.
The soldiers froze where they were.
Hamo dropped down from the beam but stood ready to swing up again. He, too, drew out a long, sharp-bladed knife.
Ulf prodded his sword into the chest of the nearest attacker. “Throw your weapons down!” he growled.
While there was a hiatus as the soldiers made up their minds what to do next, Hildegard grabbed hold of Isabella by the arm and pulled her towards the open door. At once seeing the means to escape, the girl fled down the steps, with Hildegard at her heels.
From behind them came several thumps as swords were thrown to the floor. Matt and Hamo appeared at the top of the tower steps, closely followed by Ulf. The door slammed behind them, trapping Morcar and his men inside the chamber.
Glancing over her shoulder, Hildegard saw Ulf turn the big key in the lock and stuff it in his belt. “Get the hell out!” he shouted down to them.
Nobody needed to be told. With the fleet-footed girl in front, they descended the stairs at a run.
Just coming up at that moment, no doubt to find out what the noise was about, was the steward who had insulted Hildegard earlier. He had to flatten himself against the wall or be swept back down the steps as they raced past. His eyes darted from left to right as first one, then another went by. His jaw sagged.
Before he could protest, Ulf grabbed him by the front of his surcoat, lifting him off his feet before bringing his face up close to his own. “If you value your health, get along to the feast hall, keep your mouth shut, and don’t come back until daybreak. Get it?”
The man stuttered an assent. With Ulf’s encouragement, he stumbled backwards down the steps, then turned and followed the others. Ulf was right behind him. Glancing back, the steward set off at a shambling run across the yard, heading towards the feast hall, exactly as Ulf had recommended.
The others were by now streaking across the snow-covered court towards the inner gatehouse. Hildegard pushed ahead of the barefoot girl they had rescued and poked her head through the door into the guardroom. “All well, gentlemen?”
There were cheers at her appearance.
“Can’t stop. We’re playing catch with Morcar’s men. Whatever you do, don’t let them follow us!”
More cheers were aroused, with promises to keep the bastards penned where they belonged, and one of the guards staggered to the doorway, grabbing a pike as he did so. “They’ll get this if they try, mistress. Trust us!” He gripped the doorpost to hold himself up. “Are you coming back to see us after?”
“Soon, handsome, very soon.”
By now, the others had reached the shadows at the foot of the curtain wall opposite the common hall. Sounds of feasting and general merriment were issuing forth. Ulf joined the others as Hildegard followed close behind.
“Where to now?” he demanded.
“Let’s get out of the courtyard, in case they manage to put their shoulders to their prison door and get out past those drunks in the guardhouse,” Hildegard suggested. She looked round for somewhere safe where the runaway girl could be hidden.
“They won’t open that door in a hurry. It opens inwards.” Ulf twirled the key.
“We might not be noticed up top.” Hamo pointed to the battlements. “The guards are only on duty on the landward side.”
It was true. Where the battlements overlooked the ravine on two sides, nobody bothered to keep watch. Only on the causeway side of the castle was there a strong detail of guards and lookouts.
“Let’s get up there without being noticed, then. Slowly and casually,” murmured Hildegard. There were vaults supporting several arches along the walls, where the sentries could take shelter, and they could climb up and make use of one of those.
It was still snowing. It helped conceal them and kept most people indoors. They hurried across the yard to the nearest set of steps. The girl was shivering with cold, teeth chattering audibly by now. The thin linen shift she had been sleeping in was no protection against the cold.
Ulf noticed and removed his thick woollen riding cloak. “Take this, my lady.” He draped it round her fragile body.
She was no more than sixteen, slim and pale, with a pretty face and long fair hair caught up in a silver crispinette, an expression of dazed joy on her face as it slowly sank in that she had been freed from the molestations of Earl Morcar. “You may call me Isabella,” she smiled round at them, clearly not quite believing in the sudden turn of events.
“She needs something on her feet,” Hildegard pointed out, preparing to take off her own boots.
The two masons muttered something to each other; then Matt made a small bow to the girl. “My lady, trust us. Hamo and I will make a chair of our hands and carry you until we find shelter.”
Half-collapsing with cold, the girl could only agree, and in this way she was carried up the steps to the battlements and was hurried along to the nearest recess under the stone groin halfway along the wall, where the snow had not penetrated.
Hildegard happened to glance out between the crenellations as they ran along. Towards the high moors that stretched on that side of the castle, something was moving. She gave an exclamation of surprise and stopped.
“Look, everybody, what is that?”
She had to say it twice to make them turn and look.
Through the driving snow appeared a chain of tiny lights moving along the horizon at a steady pace towards the castle.
“Hundreds of flaming bloody torches!” exclaimed Matt in stupefaction.
“It’s a ferkin great cavalcade!” Hamo gripped the stone embrasure. “Is it this earl they’re prating about?”
Hildegard peered through the driving snow. “It’s the king of the north!” she exclaimed. “At last!”
CHAPTER 28
The vanguard of the earl of Northumberland’s retinue had just started out onto the peninsula leading towards the castle. The cavalcade snaked back onto the ridge of moorland in the snow-driven night, stretching back as far as the eye could see onto the bleak track across the treeless barrens.
Hundred upon hundreds of blazing torches lit the way, jetting stars off the caparisons of the horses, glittering from the gold banners, and gilding the helmets of the ea
rl’s private bodyguard. As the numbers of those setting out across the narrow ridge towards Kilton swelled, in the rear the baggage trains hove into view. One after another, they rolled out of the blizzard, torchlight glimmering on the myriad body servants, pages, horsemen, kitcheners, bottlers, bakers, butchers, and no doubt candlestick makers of the earl’s household. The blizzard drove against them, but they drove harder through it.
Soon the shout from the sentinel in his lookout above the gatehouse rang out in response to a command to open the portcullis. With a rumbling of winches, the huge metal gate was lifted to allow the earl to enter.
He was visible now, in full armour, balanced on the footboard of a gleaming char with gilded leather hood, his standard fluttering above him, bright in the driving snow. The first horsemen began to clatter over the drawbridge, the char rumbled after them, and the earl entered between the echoing walls of the bailey to the fanfare of trumpets.
The group on the battlements watched for some time as the procession roared in under the gatehouse. The shouts of the newcomers doubled in volume within the confines of the walls.
Ulf and the masons turned their attention back to the abducted Isabella long before the last straggler hurried in as the drawbridge started to lift and the portcullis crashed shut.
Driven into shelter by the blizzard, they huddled in the lee of the wall near an unmanned sentry tower.
“Thanks be to Saint Benet. The earl has arrived. It’s obvious what we must do.” Hildegard said. “We must put Lady Isabella’s predicament before Northumberland.” She turned to her. “You must trust him. Throw yourself on his mercy.”
Countless sumpter wagons encircled the bailey. The luckier members of the earl’s household poured out of the nooks and crannies where they had been able to get a ride. Others began to unwrap the sacking from their feet, shake out their cloaks, and rub frostbitten fingers.
The Dragon of Handale A Mystery Page 24