by Jodi Taylor
Guy and I locked eyes. I forced myself not to look away and then he said, ‘Let me show you the way.’
Jerald set up the wail of a petulant child. ‘What about me?’
Guy spoke to Jerald but looked at me. ‘Your turn will come. This is but a short interlude.’
A chill ran down my back. I hadn’t fooled him at all. But if I could just have a few minutes on my own. A few minutes to sum up the situation. A few minutes to have a bit of a think …
There were two doors at the top of the stairs. One left and one right. He opened the left-hand door and pushed me inside. The cold room was empty apart from a bed. Not even a stool to wallop him round the head with.
He walked to the window. ‘Too high to jump. You would almost certainly injure yourself quite badly. And you should know – I would not let that stop me. It might even add to my enjoyment.’
I swallowed hard and pushed away thoughts of broken legs and ruptured spleens and Guy of Rushford’s excruciating weight and fought to keep my voice steady. ‘I understand.’
‘I do wonder about you,’ he said again, looking at me.
I said nothing.
He backed out of the room. I waited for the sounds of a key turning, but he had a bar across the door instead. I’d had some thought of pushing the key out of the lock, pulling it under the door and escaping that way but there’s no escaping from a barred door.
I ran to the window. It was indeed too high. There was no point in jumping and breaking both my legs.
I stared around the room. Nothing.
Yes, there was. There was a bed. With covers. I pulled them back. Sheets. Yes!
Have you ever tried to tear a sheet? It can’t be done. Yes, easy enough if you can start it off with a pair of scissors or a knife but my knife was back at St Mary’s. I tugged and tugged. Panic gave me a strength I didn’t know I had but I couldn’t do anything. And they were too bulky to knot together. And this wasn’t a four-poster. There was nothing I could tie them to anyway.
I ran to the window again. A dark courtyard. A dim building opposite – stables, probably. Snow covered everything. And a bright moon. When had it got dark? How long had I been here?
I ran back to the door and stood listening. Voices. They were talking together.
And back to the window again. I stared down at the snow. And then I had a brilliant idea …
I ripped off my cloak and dress. Not without some reluctance – the night was bloody freezing. Seizing the big feather bolster, I stuffed it inside the dress and wrapped my cloak over everything.
I went back to the window and pushed the shutter wide open. I had to do this right. I would only ever get one chance.
I remembered to brush the snow off the window sill, then I leaned out as far as I could go, screamed so long and loudly that I hurt my throat, and let the bolster fall.
It plumped into the snow below. I was staggered. It looked amazingly realistic. My cloak covered a pathetic little mound in the snow. You could just see my dress underneath. It looked for all the world as if a terrified woman had risked everything by jumping from an upstairs window – and it hadn’t worked.
I ran back and hid behind the door.
As I hoped, I could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. I was in luck. Both of them burst into the room.
Guy took one look at the open shutter, at the snow-free window sill, cursed horribly and ran to the window, closely followed by Jerald. My instinct was to run now – to get out of here as quickly as possible, but I made myself wait until they were at the window and leaning out – as far away as possible, and then I whisked myself through the door and out onto the landing. They’d left the bar. I pulled the door shut, fumbled for a horrible moment and then slammed the bar into place just as Guy reached the door and tugged. The door shifted slightly but the bar was solid. I was safe.
He rattled the latch and banged furiously on the door. ‘Open this door. I order you to open this door.’
Why do people do that? Was it likely I was going to open the bloody door? Silly sod.
I scampered back down the stairs, stumbling over the last few because:
They were very steep and very rickety and swayed every time I went near them.
Yes, all right, I’d had a few and the alcohol had gone straight to my legs.
Actually, the whole world was swaying around me in a manner probably not unconnected with b)
Back in the downstairs room, I took a moment to give the place a quick survey, mentally sorting the contents into:
Things that would burn
Things that probably wouldn’t burn unless helped on their way
Things that definitely wouldn’t burn
I kicked over the table, scattering wine everywhere. I added the wooden stools to the pile, tugged at the tapestries which fell off the wall at my first touch, enveloping me in a dusty, musty darkness. Coughing, I fought my way free and added them to the pile. They’d burn – I was sure of it.
Picking up every oil light I could find, I emptied the contents over the heap and laid a trail to the fire. I think I might have misjudged things slightly because there was a kind of whoosh noise coupled with a sudden blast of heat and I might have lost my eyebrows.
I opened the doors to give a nice through draft and left everything to find its own path through today’s events. There was a torch burning by the front door which was thoughtful of someone. I yanked it from its sconce and stepped out into the yard.
Jerald was leaning out of the upstairs window, shrieking with fear. I felt a moment’s compassion. He’d burned once … on the other hand, this is what happens when you kidnap an historian. We don’t like it, you know. He shouted over his shoulder and Guy appeared, bellowing commands for me to let him out immediately. Yes, he really hadn’t thought that one through at all, had he?
I ran to my pile of clothes and yanked the bolster free. The night was freezing – I had to have clothing or I’d be dead in an hour.
Guy and Jerald were both leaning dangerously far out of the window. I paused and frowned. How long before they stopped shouting and started thinking? If Guy – the stronger of the two – dangled Jerald from the window he’d be a good six feet or more nearer the ground. Dropping from that reduced height might mean nothing more than a sprained ankle. He’d be straight up the stairs to free Guy – and then I’d really be in trouble. I’d be lucky if they only killed me. But there might be something I could do about that.
I shot over to the stables and yes, I was running around like a headless chicken, but I was terrified they were going to get free and I had to use the little time I had to make sure they weren’t able to come after me. They were going to free themselves at some point and I couldn’t see my little fire doing a lot of damage to a stone building. There were two horses currently in residence. One I ignored completely. A huge destrier with a nasty look in its eye, already restless at the smell of smoke, and about the size of a three-story block of flats, rolled an eye at me. I pulled on his tether to free him – from a safe distance obviously – because although I had no problem with toasting Guy and Jerald, it didn’t seem right to do it to their horses.
The other occupant was Jerald’s seriously yellow horse. It looked back at me. Even at this stage I could see our relationship was going to need a lot of work.
There was a pile of straw at the far wall. I held the torch there for just long enough for a flame to catch and then I was off. No time for a bridle. The yellow horse was haltered and that would just have to do. I dragged it out into the yard, stepping smartly aside as Big Boy thundered past me and down the track. I did panic that the yellow horse might follow him but, as I was to discover, the yellow horse did not do thundering.
I turned for one final look, Jerald was indeed being dangled from the upstairs window. Guy was bellowing at him to let go and Jerald was whimpering and kicking and clinging on for dear life.
I carefully tugged the heavy bolster into position directly beneath them. They both stopped
shouting and stared at this suspicious piece of consideration. And they were right to do so because I tossed the torch on top of it. Feathers aren’t particularly flammable but anything will burn if you hold a flame to it for long enough.
Jerald’s whimpering turned to a shriek as the flames grew higher.
I no longer cared. I scrambled aboard the yellow horse and took one last look around. Flames were licking around the front doorway. The interior was a roaring nicely. The stables were well ablaze. Even the bolster had joined in the spirit of things. Guy and Jerald were blaspheming into the uncaring night. I gave them an historically inaccurate finger.
My work here was done. Time to go.
I’d like to say I thundered out of the yard and into the night. I mean, on the strength of my performance so far, you’d think a good thunder would be the least the god of historians could grant me, wouldn’t you?
That bloody horse. That bloody, bloody horse.
I thundered out of the yard and out into the night at a gentle canter. Slow, sedate and majestic. Not what you look for in a getaway horse. I should have stuck with Guy’s destrier. Yes, it would have dumped me in the nearest ditch and then eaten me, but at least I might have been a mile or so away before that happened.
Even if I’d never seen him before, I could have told you this was Jerald’s horse. He could no more ride a destrier than fly to the moon. Or stop picking his nose in public. It was just right for him. Slow and sedate. A horse with only one gear. In vain did I drum my heels against his sides. He ignored me. I lashed him with the end of the halter rope. He ignored me. I shouted at him. He ignored me.
Glancing back over my shoulder, the whole area was ablaze. People would come to investigate. Perhaps the trees would catch fire as well. Oh God, this might burn down the entire wood and what would Hugh Armstrong would have to say to me then? Perhaps I could offer him the yellow horse as payment.
We cantered gently down the track and through the trees. The moon was up and full and the yellow horse seemed full of purpose and direction so I left him to his own devices while I had a bit of a think.
I didn’t have the slightest idea where I was in relation to St Mary’s. I wondered if anyone was out looking for me. If anyone was out on this freezing night they’d head straight for the burning glow amongst the trees. Should I hang around to see if someone turned up, or should I get as far away as possible in case Guy and Jerald had managed to free themselves? That’s the problem with being kidnapped. Escaping is the easy bit – it’s what to do afterwards that’s the bummer. For all I knew I was cantering majestically in the wrong direction. In fact, I probably was.
And I was freezing. I had to get my clothes on again. And as soon as possible. This was no night to be out in just my tunic. The yellow horse was warm enough so my bum was OK, but the rest of me was numb with cold. The heavens above were clear and scattered with bright stars. The moon hung in the cold sky, casting long blue shadows over the white snow. The thick, white snow. If the yellow horse lost the track, stumbled and came down, or if I fell off, it would be a disaster. I needed to get as far away as I possibly could, find some shelter, get dressed, wait for the sun to come up, and then get myself back to St Mary’s. I had to warn William Hendred so he could warn Hugh Armstrong, but all I had was this bloody yellow horse so I sat quietly and allowed him to find his own pace and his own path.
We seemed to travel for a very long time although I’m not sure it was. Eventually the yellow horse began to pant and then the track emerged from the trees. We stopped, our breath puffing around us. It was hard to tell under all that snow, but I think we’d joined a road. I looked left and right. No clues. Just a blank and empty snowscape. Away on the horizon, to my right, an eerie glow lit the sky.
I turned left, saying, ‘What do you think?’ to the yellow horse. He seemed happy enough with left. He was certainly the closest thing to a satnav I was going to get.
We trotted for a while. I bumped up and down, keeping my eyes peeled and my ears open for any sounds of pursuit. If Guy was free and had managed to recapture his horse, they could be on us in minutes. Struck by a sudden thought, I twisted around and looked behind me. Yep, a lovely set of hoofprints, sharp and clear in the bright moonlight. Bollocks.
There was nothing I could do about it, however, so I urged the yellow horse onwards. Its shoulders heaved unnervingly but I gathered this was its precursor to moving up a gear. I wondered who on earth would be stupid enough to own a horse like this. Other than Jerald, of course.
We cantered merrily along. Me rapidly sobering up in the cold and slowly turning blue, and the yellow horse apparently quite enjoying his night out, until finally, I couldn’t stand the cold any longer. I had to get my clothes back on as quickly as possible.
Note to anyone interested. Don’t try and get dressed while riding a horse. I am aware it can be done. Just not by me. I fell off. And now, because I’d fallen into the snow, I was wet as well as cold. The only good thing was that the yellow horse stopped and looked back at me with an expression of mild enquiry. I was beginning to hate that bloody horse.
Actually, my fall turned out to be a good thing. In the sudden silence, I could hear hooves. Coming up behind me. Coming up fast.
There was a small copse off to one side of the road and I set off at top speed, slipping and tumbling on the rough snowy ground. The yellow horse, which I’d intended to leave on the road as a decoy, trotted happily along beside me. I told it to bugger off and it ignored me.
We reached the copse. I dragged the horse in beside me, hid behind a tree, shivering violently, and tried to see the road. Two riders appeared around the bend, both bending over the clear as day hoof marks they’d obviously been following. They reached the spot where I’d fallen off. One said something to the other and they both laughed. I gritted my teeth. They’d pay for that. I was just in the mood.
The one in front, sitting easily on his big chestnut horse, rested one gloved hand on his hip and called for me to come out.
I seriously considered spending the rest of my life in that copse, but there was no real choice, was there? Clutching my bundle of clothing in one hand and the ridiculous yellow horse with the other, I scrambled down the bank and confronted William Hendred and Tam the Welshman.
Again. Bollocks.
I stood, clutching my pathetic bundle of clothing, and shivering so hard it was a miracle I didn’t shake something loose.
He looked at me, trembling in my underwear, at the yellow horse, at the glow on the horizon and said, ‘What have you done?’
It was too much. His tone was mild – there was no blame in his voice, but it was still too much. Much too much on this crowded night. I didn’t mean to but I burst into tears. Blame the drink. I did.
I heard him say something to Tam as he dismounted. I was shaking with cold, trying to disentangle my clothing – which was as wet as I was – sobbing like an idiot and blaming everything on the yellow horse, which was looking at me as if I was its new BFF. Well, anything was an improvement on Jerald, I suppose.
William Hendred took my clothing off me and passed it to Tam. The next minute, I was up on his horse and he was swinging himself up behind me. The saddle was easily big enough for two of us. He pulled me in close, carefully wrapped his cloak around us both and urged his horse forwards.
We covered the ground a lot more quickly than the yellow horse had managed and yet, when I looked, there he was, cantering along behind us, apparently determined not to be separated from me at any cost.
I know his horse was warm – as was he. I could feel the heat coming from both of them. I could feel their warmth on my skin, but nothing seemed to penetrate. It was as if I was made of ice and nothing could touch me. I shivered and shook. Only now that there was warmth did I realise how cold I was. I should have stopped and dressed long before this.
He held me tightly against him and I clutched at his doublet with both hands.
Words and pictures danced through my brain. The foreign
woman he so dotes upon. Dancing flames that froze in the moonlight. A yellow sea that rose and fell. Rose and fell … the foreign woman … dotes upon.
I think I whispered something. He clasped me harder and I felt Theobald’s muscles bunch. We bounded forwards, adrift in a world of blue and white shadows. Something touched my icy cheek. There was a world of warmth under this cloak and I wanted to stay here forever but I was slipping back into the icy flames. Nothing could touch me. Nothing could warm me.
Dawn was breaking as we reached St Mary’s. I heard the bell ringing, cutting through my dreams. We swept into the courtyard. I could hear Tam shouting for the grooms. His voice was a long distance away.
I was lifted down. I thought I heard Margery’s voice somewhere and then I was back in William Hendred’s arms again and he was striding towards the solar. Someone threw open the door. The heat hit me like an oven and then we were up the stairs and into his chamber. I could hear his voice, issuing instructions. There was a fire lit, but someone brought in a brazier as well. And then I was in a bed. I could hear a babble of voices. Someone held a beaker to my lips. There was a warm, sweet drink. The door banged. Silence fell. I felt him climb in behind me. The covers closed over me like the sea. I could feel the heat from his body seeping into mine. I remember giving brief thanks that at least someone knew how to treat hypothermia. And then I slept.
I awoke once to the sound of the shutter rattling in its fastening. There was a violent storm out there. I could hear the wind shrieking around the walls and rain against the walls. I however, was warm and safe. I shifted a little and something moved beside me. He was still here.
I woke again and both the wind and William Hendred had gone.
I woke a third time and I was a new person. Something had changed. I didn’t know what, but inside my head, something was different. No longer was I a modern historian half in this world and half in my own. I knew I was here for good. No one was ever going to find me. I would never go home – because this was my home now. I was Joan of Rouen – I really wished I’d chosen a more interesting name – and this was my world. These people were my family. I needed to stop regretting what could not be changed and look ahead. This was my future. For a few years, anyway.