by Mairi Norris
Ysane finally realized the company was circumventing the faire at a far enough distance none there would guess at their passing. ’Twas clear Fallard wished none to know of their return to Wulfsinraed. His purpose remained a mystery.
Well past the crossroads, the company returned to the road and Fallard set them to a steady pace through the misty dawn until they came about half a league from Wulfsinraed. Fallard led them once again away from the road to a glade deep in the forest. A hasty, low-voiced, last minute conference was held, this time with the women present, and Ysane learned something of what Leda had confessed to Fallard.
Shocked to her core to discover Leda had learned the secret of the corridor and postern door and passed that information to Ruald, she was further horrified when Fallard explained he expected Ruald to use their absence to put men inside the wall and take over the burh. He was certain the attempt would be made that very night, for ’twas the dark of the moon and might well rain again, giving Ruald’s men good cover. But a trap had been laid, and they were returning to Wulfsinraed to spring it.
“There will be fighting,” Ysane whispered, trying to hide the fear that loomed as a monstrous shadow over her heart.
“There may be. I will lie not. But mayhap, if all goes well, a battle can be avoided. If not, we are ready. You and the other women will remain here with the horses, for we need them not. Fear not, little mother, I leave you well protected.”
“You must know my fear is not for myself, Fallard.”
“I do know. But think not the worst. Rather, think of how good ’twill be when the threat is removed. This must be done, Ysane. There is no other way.”
“Fallard, about Cynric….”
“He has been described to my men. As much care will be taken as possible. But if he fights, my rose, I can make no promises.”
He pulled her aside, gathered her in his arms and spoke words of love and encouragement. The soothing warmth of his big hand spread protectively over her belly to penetrate the layers of clothing. It comforted her.
As he pulled away, she saw that Trifine and the young knight enamoured of Aelthid held their ladies close as well, each offering farewell in his own way.
“Lady?” Roul appeared before her. He stammered for a moment, straightened and said, “Know you, I will guard well my captain’s back. I will allow no harm to come to him. I pledge you this, upon my honor.”
Before she could respond, he bowed and hurried away. Ysane watched him speak to Fallard, glance back at her and grin. Her heart suddenly felt a little less heavy.
The men left behind to guard the women began to set up camp in whatever comfort could be found or devised. Fallard split his men into two companies, one large, the other but a handful. The two groups melted away on foot into the trees. Ere he vanished into the swirling fog, Fallard turned to Ysane. He stared with such hunger she shuddered. The power of his look spoke of a love and a need so strong, ’twas if he caressed her from afar. She sought to return that touch with the force of her own love, and from the way his eyes caught fire, knew she succeeded.
He slipped away, as if to the hunt.
Oh, aye, he hunts this night. But the game he stalks can too easily turn and rend him beyond recall.
She shook her head to rid her thoughts of the danger he would face, for she feared that to think such things might make them come true.
He will overcome, and be safe in the doing. He will!
So she resolved. Roana met her gaze with the same determined optimism. Lynnet stood staring at their camp, forlorn. Ysane set her to work. The women would all need to keep busy this day, for by naught else could they keep the fear at bay.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Fallard took charge of the smaller group and set aside all thought of Ysane, for he had need of a clear head. In the lightening day, he led them easily across the sluggish, knee-deep current to the southern side of the river. Flitting like wraiths through the forest, they made their way back to the burh until they were situated in the woods at a point across from the curving southwest end of the wall. They faced the hidden postern gate. Here, the river was wider, and thus shallower than at any other spot.
From the reports of his farthest flung scouts, he now knew that as he had foreseen, the rebel forces operating around London had been traveling at speed towards Wulfsinraed for several days. Small groups were now arriving in the forest beyond the north clearing. The bulk of the force was expected to be in place by nightfall. He had got his wish. The rebels were coming to him.
“Captain. Sir Ruald just finished a reconnoiter of the southwest wall, not far from our position.” The whispered report from his man brought crinkles to the corners of Fallard’s eyes.
“’Tis as I expected,” he said. “Where is he, now?”
“Gone, sir. He waits in a clearing beyond where we lie. The slave Leda is with him, and six others. I believe one to be Cynric Master Carver.”
“Watch them, but not too closely. I would know when they move.”
“Aye, sir.” The man slithered away.
The morn passed while Fallard laid low with his small band.
Shortly after noontide, he crawled back to the edge of the clearing and watched as Varin, on duty by design, paused above the gate. The knight looked out across the space, as he would have done a hundred times already that day. A hare erupted from the woods and shot across the open area to scurry into the underbrush further along. A grin stretched across Varin’s craggy face. Though the skies were overcast and rain threatened, the day was quite warm. He removed his helm, rubbed his hand vigorously through his short, sweaty hair as if allowing the air to cool it, and replaced the headgear. Then, as he had also done throughout his shift, he continued to amble along the wall, keeping watch.
Fallard grunted. The signal had been received and acknowledged.
He thought of Trifine, who led the larger group. They were north of Wulfsinraed, under cover in the same deep ravine where they had all sheltered before the attack on the burh, five months earlier. Throughout the day, they would rest in silence, for there would be no sleeping once night fell. He feared they might be hard pressed to remain concealed, but naught could be done about that, now.
The return of the rebel troops from the London area had confirmed his thought Ruald intended to make his move this night or the next, at latest. Though Leda had not been privy to all the details, her admission that she had told the rebel leader of the postern gate was a critical piece of the puzzle. He was convinced Ruald, with a small group of his best fighters, intended to use cover of darkness to ford the river and enter the burh through it. In light of this, Father Gregory had already been warned to sleep in the village, in pretense of tending a ‘mortally ill’ villager, and the sentries were ordered to remain ‘blind’ to Ruald’s entrance.
Fallard believed Ruald would follow the same strategy that he himself had originally intended to use, to open the gates from within and hold them while the larger force outside rushed the burh in the darkness. That force badly outnumbered the small garrison he had left behind. ’Twould seem to Ruald an easy victory. But once inside the corridor, Ruald would find the situation rather different than he would expect.
He swept the scene before him with one last, searching glance, then wriggled back from his position and returned to his men. The after noontide hours were spent in rest and preparation. As he had surmised, the scudding clouds thickened. The air grew sultry and the gloaming drifted down early.
He found himself smiling in anticipation. A wet night would aid his endeavors even more than it would his enemy. Soon, Ruald would enter the postern gate. If all went as planned, then shortly after would come the prearranged signal to advise him the insurrectionist leader was secured. He settled to wait.
***
Sir Ruald of Sebfeld, camouflaged, as those with him, in dark clothing, and with face and hands blackened with greasy ash, knelt on the wet ground across from the featureless section of wall where the Foolish One assured him
the postern gate lay. His reconnoiter of the area earlier in the day had afforded him a keen appreciation of the cunning design, for he would never have guessed an opening resided there.
The storm front had passed, but moisture-laden air still buffeted his face. He waited in growing impatience, for he hoped the gusting rain would start again. Despite the darkness, he needed it to insure the movements of his small force were masked as they crossed the river and climbed to the gate.
He laughed beneath his breath, the merriment a veiled insult to his companions. He was in a fey and dangerous humor. Though his men kept their distance, the Foolish One squatted beside him. He needed her not this night, but had decided her presence might facilitate certain matters. His even more foolish brother rested on his haunches at his other side. He knew Cynric regarded him with wary suspicion, but he cared not.
He could scarcely credit the blind stupidity of them both. They believed all his lies. He could wait not to be rid of them, though Cynric must be tolerated longer than the Foolish One. A sneer crossed his face, unseen in the darkness. After her escape from the dark knight’s keeping, the Foolish One talked unceasingly of ruling the slaves and servants once she was lady of the burh. The thought of costly fabrics, jewels and more coin than she could imagine pleased her not so much as the anticipation of grinding the people of the hall beneath her feet. ’Twas a sentiment Ruald understood, and ’twas one of several reasons he had not killed her on sight when she showed up unexpectedly in his camp. Soon though, he would find a way to dispose of her and make it look as if she died at the hands of the enemy, for a man must sacrifice to achieve coveted goals. He would find new bedmates once he got an heir from the noble wife he intended to take once he, and not Cynric, ruled Wulfsinraed.
He inhaled through gritted teeth as a spasm of sheer jubilation rolled over him. In but a few moments, he would hold all his heart desired—all for which he had for so long schemed and devised. None could stop him. D’Auvrecher was well on his way to answer the summons of his rampaging idiot of a king, leaving the burh protected by but a minimum force. Once the sentries were silenced, he would signal his men outside and open the gates. Wulfsinraed’s much-reduced garrison would be quickly overwhelmed did they attempt to mount a defense.
His shoulders shook again with his mirth. As the dark knight had done to him, so he would do in return. ’Twas a fitting reward for D’Auvrecher’s interference.
As he had hoped, a slow but steady rain started to fall. He lifted his face to its cleansing force and knew in his soul ’twas time.
He turned to Cynric. “We move.”
They forded the knee-deep river against a sluggish current and climbed the abutment beneath the hidden gate. Leda pointed out the narrow ledge in front of it. He pulled her up beside him. Under her direction, he opened the cleverly hidden latch. The door opened without a sound.
A snarl of victory rumbled from his throat. This had been the only snag in his plan. The day he had learned of the secret entrance, he had sent a return message to the Foolish One ordering her back to the corridor to unbar it. She had assured him the task was done, but ’twas possible, howbeit unlikely, someone had discovered the unbolted door and resecured it.
One by one, the small force crept through the tunnel and into the corridor. Ruald and Cynric lit the torches they had carried beneath their dark cloaks. Ruald moved to the secret door. His hand found the mechanism that slid the iron locking-rod into the wall, but when he pressed against the door, it opened not. His startled gaze flew to Cynric, who frowned, checked to make sure the iron rod was fully retracted, and shoved, then threw his strength against the portal. It gave not. The two pushed together, but the door held fast.
Cynric shook his head as his scowl deepened. “Should not the door open easily?”
A quiver of foreboding flashed like ice down Ruald’s spine.
“Never mind. We will go through the chapel.”
An amused voice spoke from the darkness behind them, the tone conversational. “Look you, Ingram. They seem unable to pass the door. ’Twould seem mayhap, some plans have gone awry, think you not, my friend?”
Ingram chuckled. “Aye, Varin. But where Captain D’Auvrecher is involved, plans oft have a way of doing that, as I was saying to my woman this very morn. ’Tis maddening you know, but oft times, like now I would say, there is naught a man can do.”
***
“Well done, Jehan! This night’s work proceeds well.” Fallard commended his Second as he surveyed the line of men—and lone woman—gagged and bound at hands, knees and feet, sitting with their backs to the corridor wall. Some of them, including Ruald and Cynric, looked rather the worse for wear.
In the confined space, the brief fight had been swiftly won, for the warriors of the burh had been waiting to confront the rebels from the chapel and the crypts. After the first hard clash, Ruald’s force had deemed it wise to surrender. Only Ruald and Cynric had continued to fight until overcome.
Fallard and his company had entered through the postern gate moments later, willing hands aiding them up the last few feet of the abutment. He paced the corridor, the hem of his black cloak brushing the feet of his captives, until he stopped in front of the leader. Ruald’s storm-hued eyes blazed with a rage so fierce ’twas a wonder he caught not fire and burned.
Cynric, the only one not gagged, was far more composed. He wore stoic resignation like a cloak. Shoulders slumped, he relaxed in his bonds and returned Fallard’s stare through his sister’s moss green eyes. A trickle of blood from above his hairline dried on his temple.
“You must know I am not truly surprised,” he said. “I told Ruald you were cunning, warned him not to underestimate you.” He sighed and leaned his head against the wall. “You knew of my involvement all along, did you not?”
“Aye, though not by any word or deed of Ysane.”
“I know it. Her loyalties tear at her, but she would never betray one she loved. This is none of her doing, but rather my own fate, which has again played me false.”
“’Tis not the fault of fate you sit in defeat, Cynric of Wulfsinraed. ’Tis your own flawed choice.”
Cynric closed his eyes and said no more.
Fallard moved to Leda. Terror flared through the tears in her amber eyes. Her weeping increased, and she began to choke behind her gag.
He bent to take her chin in hard fingers. “Calm yourself. Your fate will be not as you fear.”
He straightened and called to several of his men. “This one,” he said, pointing to Leda, “take to the hall. Lock her within the uppermost chamber of the southeast tower. Remove her bindings, but leave two men to guard her…and know this. I will have silence. If she refuses this order, bind her again and gag her.”
“This one,” and now he pointed to Cynric, “I want gagged and taken to the interrogation pit. Leave him there. I have plans for him that include not the others. Ere you leave, bind his knees and feet again.
“As for the rest, drag all but this one,” he gestured to a nameless rebel, “into the hall of the crypts. Insure their bindings are secure and leave them in the dark to contemplate…defeat.”
Ruald’s frenzied scream was muffled and his body heaved and bucked as he was hauled out of the corridor.
Fallard regarded the rebel kept behind. Even in the chill of the corridor, the man perspired profusely. His eyes darted from one to the other of Fallard’s men and he swallowed repeatedly. Fallard glanced at Jehan and Varin, and jerked his chin. They lifted the man to his feet with ungentle hands, pinning him to the wall. Fallard drew his knife. The razor edge of the blade flashed in the torchlight as Fallard thrust it close to the man’s face, letting it fill his vision. He began to moan.
“If you wish to survive this night in one piece,” Fallard said, indenting the weapon’s tip so deeply into the man’s skin while drawing it down over his cheek that a faint red line appeared, “you will answer my questions, immediately and without attempt at evasion. If you lie, I will know. If you seek to c
onfuse, I will know and I give my word you will regret it.” He glanced at Varin. “Remove the gag.”
As Varin jerked forth the rag, the stench of fresh urine lifted from the front of the man’s braies.
“Now,” Fallard said, as he shaved off one of the prisoner’s eyebrows and made a show of sprinkling the hair from his fingers. “Tell me fully of Sir Ruald’s plan for taking control of my hall, and leave out no detail.”
***
The wooden door slammed shut behind Leda, confining her in the upper tower chamber. She shivered. Her hands clenched as she sought to control her breathing. She had one chance, and only one to survive this new defeat, but she must control her fear. As she had done before in the crypts, she fought and defeated the demons of her own terror.
Briefly, she paced among rolled tapestries, extra chamber pots and braziers, storage chests for spare linens, shelves lined with surplus crocks, bowls, and pitchers and other useful, but currently unneeded items of the hall. It had been one of her many responsibilities to keep the chamber organized, to insure all the items were cleaned before storage and to transport them back and forth from the hall as required. She hated the chore, but it had provided a convenient excuse for spending more time closeted in the room than otherwise would be expected.
She crept to the door and laid her ear against it. All was silent, but she knew her guards remained. There was no escape that way.
But the tower chamber was Leda’s sanctuary, and she knew its secrets. There was another way, one she believed even the dark knight’s whore had forgotten. She had found it long ago, by accident when she tripped and fell. Beneath her weight, the wall snapped inward by the space of two fingers, revealing the facade of a concealed door. Curious, she searched until she found and mastered the mechanism of the latch. She edged the door open. Light from the window embrasures disclosed a steep, narrow stairwell of wood. ’Twas some time ere she found the courage to explore her discovery, for the entrance was filled with webs and smelled of disuse. Who knew how dangerous it might be? Mayhap, ’twould crumble beneath her feet and she would be lost forever at its base.