by Band of Iron
“M’lady, yer should know what yer walkin into.” The boy swallowed. “Some women go in and never come out.”
“We have to get my niece out of there. What’s your name?”
“Ned, after good King Edward.”
“Ned, we need to know what’s it’s like inside. Can you draw a map?”
He knelt and scratched in the dirt with a stick. “This be the bottom floor. The kitchens are behind the public room. The ladies rooms are off the balcony and run around the lower story.” He dug the stick into the ground. “This be real stupid.”
“Where is the door to the kitchens?” asked Catharine.
“Back there.” Ned pointed to a door halfway down the alley.
“Where is the girl?” Catharine watched to boy squirm. “Want to double the money Agnes promised?” Agnes uttered a protest, but Catharine silenced her with a look. Ned squirmed. “Take it or leave it,” Catharine said. “And you get to work for the House of Trevor.”
“She’s in a room off the kitchen.”
Catharine grabbed the yoke, and swung it over her shoulders. “Where is the water well?”
“Pay me first. If you goin in, ye won’t come out.” His voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “M’lady, ye must not do this.”
“Where is the well?”
Ned led her to a niche between the two houses. He helped her fill the buckets. “Now, where are the water barrels?”
“To the right. By the door as ye go in.” He stood defiant. “Pay me first. I kept me part of the bargain.”
“So you did.” Catharine paid him double the amount. His hand shook as he accepted the half royals.
Bowed under the weight of the yoke. Catharine went back to Agnes. “Open the door.”
“I donna like it. We should have told Lord Peter.”
“Yer husband and master donna know yer ’here?” Ned shook his head.
“The door.”
Agnes pushed open the door. Catharine edged sideways through into a hubbub of scurrying people. The moment she entered the cook swore at her. “Idiot! Where ’ave ye been..hey. Yer not Ellen. What’s yer doin ’ere?
“Ellen’s ill, good master. I’m to take ’re place fetchin water.” Catharine emptied the buckets in the barrel.
“Jesus wept. Yer filthy.”
Catharine spat, getting satisfaction from her defiance. She’s smeared her face with dirt and tangled her hair at the well. She knew how bad she looked. “I donna need the likes of ye to tell ... ”
“Puttin on airs, are we?” The bearded cook shook an iron ladle at her.
“Ha! Fat Pig!” Catharine said, “’is place be well named. Ye must be the boar. I bet the ladies think so.” Her raucous laughter rang through the large room. She ducked when the ladle sailed toward her head and slammed into the door fame. “Poor aim, Master Cook.”
“Fill the barrel and leave, ye nasty slut.” he turned back to his cooking.
Catharine took in the details of the room. The door to Bess’s chamber stood exactly where Ned said it would be. She returned with three more loads of water, passing the anxious glances of Agnes, and scowls of Ned. Emptying the third load, she set the yoke down, and tried the latch on the door. The door opened to show her the gagged and bound figure of her niece. She entered. Bess’s frantic eyes went from Catharine to a dim figure in the back of the room. A chill ran through Catharine, and the hair stood on the nap of her neck. A blond man with a drawn sword stepped into the light of the door.
“Welcome, Lady Trobridge,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you. Might I introduce myself? I’m Allan Carnahan, architect of your husband’s pretty face. Shortly, I’ll be the architect of a pain so intense he’ll beg for death if he can.”
“He would defeat you in a duel,” Catharine said, trying to think. Carnahan grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her inside and slamming the door.
He pulled her close, his course unshaven skin on his face brushing hers. When she cringed, he laughed, and flung her so she stumbled and landed back against the wall.
“I’m not talking about a duel.” He ran his heavy tongue over thick lips. “I’m talking about dishonoring both of his women. About leaving them without reputation. No more would you find him touching you in the way I’m sure you delight. You seem to have gotten past his scarred face. I congratulate you. It takes a strong stomach I’m sure.” He sheathed his sword.
She stared, sickened and trembling, at the leering coarse face. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. She stood, and raised her head, her eyes hard and cold.
“Did he tell you how he screamed when I cut his face?” Carnahan asked. “This heir of the House of Trevor. But no one came. I took a very long time.” His voice lowered, almost prayer like. “I was preparing to cut the other side when I was interrupted.”
“You’re a monster,” Catharine said in horror.
“I am a creature of my time, Lady Trobridge. Born to pain. I was birthed during the sack of Evingston. I learned my trade from the cradle.”
“Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because it was done to me. Look carefully.” Carnahan raised his shirt and turned. His back, a mass of rutted scar tissue showed unnaturally white in the dim light. “Pain is the one certain thing in life.” He lowered his shirt.
“So you pass on the hell that was given to you. Where does it end?” Revulsion seized her stomach, she kept disgust in her voice.
“It doesn’t. That is the nature of man.”
“But why Lord Trobridge?” She fought unsteady fear.
“He refused me in my pain. Your husband was a passenger on a galley where I rowed. I was tied to the mast and whipped as an example to the other slaves. I cried out, seeking release from the awful pain in death. When the captain offered Trobridge his knife, he refused, and was sick over the side. Gutless wonder. Astonishing, considering what he’s reputed to have done at Tewkesbury the next year.”
“He would have been only fifteen.”
Carnahan’s words came tight and pointed. “At fifteen I killed my friends who were too badly injured on the battlefield. It is a courtesy of life. He refused me.”
“Right out of a nightmare,” she said. “And you want to continue it?”
“I swore an oath,” he said. “I hunted until I found him.”
“Damn your oath,” Catharine shouted. “You swear an oath. He swears an oath. They ruin everything.”
Carnahan grinned. “The best way to keep pain focused is with an oath. Smart man, Lord Trobridge. With both of us swearing the other’s death, how can we miss?”
Ned entered, shoving a struggling Agnes ahead of him. She landed next to Catharine. He walked warily to Carnahan and whispered in his ear.
“My son says your husband knows nothing of your being here. Lady Trobridge, you are surpassed.”
“Ned is your son?”
“Aye. One of my many accidents. Good lad, Ned. Clever, wasn’t he? Suddenly your servant had the information impossible to get. Too good to be true. Too good to pass up.” Carnahan laughed. “It says something when you can inspire such fear no criminal in the city will talk.” Ned shuffled his feet. “Good touch bouncing the boy off the ground.” He smiled. “The lad’s a learner.” He spun a silver penny in the air to Ned who caught it with grace. “The lad warned you several times.”
“What happens now?”
“I’m about to give your husband back the pain he gave me by killing my son, Castor.” He moved toward Catharine hand out stretched, and pulled it back stung, red spurting. “Damn.”
Fear clutched Catharine’s stomach. He can’t touch me. I can’t let him dishonor Bess or me. The idea of Carnahan touching her sickened. She tightened her grip on the knife, holding it in front of her. He feigned to one side, and grabbed the knife twisting it out of her hand. Her wrist stung.
“You think a toothpick will stop me?” Grabbing her with his good hand, he pulled her close, face bent to hers. She could smell the garlic and s
tale wine on his breath. Her heart raced. Panic began to take over. The terror of knowing his intent, and the touch of his hands made her skin crawl. She lashed out with her feet, but he held her at arm’s length so she could not touch him, and laughed. The door opened and a male voice said, “His Grace wants you on the double, Carnahan.”
Carnahan shoved Catharine against the wall. “I’ll finish with you later.” He turned to the man behind him. “They are not to be touched until I’m done with them.” He tore the sleeve from her blouse to bind his bleeding hand. “I’ll see if I can repay you for your thoughtless prank.”
“I hope you infect and die of proud flesh,” Catharine said.
“It won’t happen.” He grinned. “I’ve recovered from more wounds than you can imagine. But for your thoughtless act you will work the public room for two nights before I return you to your husband.” He pushed Ned ahead of him, and slammed the door. The key grated in the lock.
She hurried to tear off Bess’s gag, and untie her hands and feet. “Have they hurt you?”
“No,” Bess said. “This is the first time I’ve seen Carnahan. The boy and the cook have seen to my needs.”
“I don’t see any way out of here, my girl,” Agnes said, and scowled. “You should’ve listened to me.”
Catharine stared up at the high window, seven feet from the floor. Three iron bars covered the opening. No way out there. She laughed, pleased her voice didn’t sound shaky as she felt. “Don’t be so negative, Agnes. Where is that mischievous woman who challenges, scolds, and drive me to distraction?” She eyed her servant. “I need that now. There must be a way out of here.” She heard Bess give short hollow laugh, and sensed the strain the last three days had worked on the girl. There had to be a way out.
8
Catharine ran her fingers along the rough wood walls, traced the edges of the room, and checked every space, crack and flaw. A narrow space next to a thick wood beam caught her attention. Daylight spilled in, but closer inspection found the crack less than a fingers thickness and eight inches long. The wood would not give to foot, shoulder, or prying. Through the crack the alley seemed so near, yet so far. “I’m out of ideas,” she said.
“Let’s try the window.” Bess stood. “Give me a boost.”
“Good thought.” Agnes put a chair to one side below the window and helped Bess to climb from the chair to Catharine’s shoulders. Bess teetered and straightened. “Got the bars,” she said. “But they’re solid.” They wouldn’t budge no matter how she strained.
“Agnes, how about you trying?” Bess climbed down to the floor
“A weak old woman like me? But I can boost you up, my lady.”
Bess steadied Catharine when she climbed on Agnes’ back. They eased her up until she reached the bars. Agnes grunted. “Hurry. My back is old.”
“Ha. Your back is strong as an ox. I’ve often thought you ought to hire yourself out for plowing, Mistress Scoville.”
“Thank you, my lady. Gracious you say so.” Agnes shifted and when Catharine swore, she snickered.
“A bar is loose.” Catharine worked at it, pounding with the heel of her hand. The wood frame cracked and the bar shot into the alley. Catharine froze, expecting the door would be jerked open, the room filled with armed men. Anxious seconds passed while they waited in terrified silence. Then a fist crashed into the door.
“Silence, sluts!” Ned had tried to make his young voice sound deep, but Catharine recognized it. Seconds passed but no one came.
Catharine got down and bent to Bess’ ear. “I think you can squeeze through the opening without your gown.”
Bess gave a strained grin. “How exciting. Then I can flee half-naked to the Town watch, and raise the Hue and Cry to free you.”
Catharine laughed at the girl’s spunk. “I think we can shove your gown after you. A skinny old lady like Agnes could squeeze through that hole.”
Agnes scowled at the narrow opening. “Can a camel go through the eye of a needle? I have not that faith, my lady.”
“Want to try for another bar, Mistress Scoville?”
“My old back is up to it, if you are, my lady.”
Catharine pounded on the middle bar, but it didn’t budge. “Use this spoon,” Bess said, handing it up. Catharine dug and stabbed at the wood, but the spoon bent and then snapped. She used the handle to stab the wood, and bloodied her hand on the splinters. Nails broke to the quick.
“You need to take a break, Catharine,” Bess said. “Look, your hand is all bloody.”
“But the bars are beginning to wiggle,” Catharine said, getting down from Agnes’ back. She dabbed the blood from her hands with a piece of cloth torn from her chemise. “Are you up to it once more, Agnes?”
“If you think you can get us out of this pest hole, my lady. I pray you’ll refrain from doing this too often now that you are married.”
“I do seem to be getting into a remarkable amount of pickles since my marriage to Peter. I wonder if this is going to be standard fare from now on.” She teetered on Agnes’ back. Bess held her behind her knees, and Agnes grunted. In less than a minute the bar gave before Catharine’s determined onslaught. The bar slipped out of her fingers and tumbled out the window to the ground.
Bess darted to the crack. “No one is there.”
Catharine climbed down. “Beautiful, but we’ve no time to lose. Bess, you first.”
“But ... ”
“No time for argument. Up you go. We’ll hope no one sees you. It’s the only chance you have.”
Catharine boosted Bess to the window. The girl grabbed the one bar, and pulled while Catharine heaved, pushing with her legs. Bess disappeared out the window with a low shriek. They heard a thump as she landed on the ground.
Damn. At the crack, Catharine watched Ned grab Bess. The girl kicked, bit, and scratched until a hard cuff stunned her.
Seconds later the key grated in the lock, and the door flung open on a cocky Ned and a stunned Bess. He dumped Bess on the floor at Catharine’s feet. “Yer fun to watch,” he said, closing the door and locking it from the inside. “I been watching ya work on da bars fer da last ’our. Ya caint escape ya know.” He held up the key.
“You could join us.” Catharine gestured. “My offer of working for the House of Trevor still holds.”
“Me da would ’unt me down if I disobeyed ’im.”
“We have half a hundred manors where we can hide you or we could send you over the Narrow Sea to our trading concerns in the Low Countries. We can protect you.”
Ned shook his head. “Lady Trobridge, me life be worthless if he found I betrayed ’im.. I be sorry.”
Catharine dived for the boy, and knocked him down. Bess and Agnes joined in the wild tangle of flying feet and fists. Twice Ned broke free, but they downed him again and again until the boy lay stunned on the floor. The women bound and gagged him with strips of cloth torn from their clothes.
A heavy fist banged on the door. “Shut up or I be comin and give ye what fer,” the cook shouted. After several minutes of silence, Catharine pointed to the window. Bess climbed through and landed with a thud. Agnes followed.
“Hurry up, Catharine,” Bess whispered urgently against the crack. “I can hear Carnahan in the public room.”
Catharine leaped and grabbed the single bar to pull herself up and the door latch rattled.. Every nerve in her body jumped.
“Where’s the key?” Carnahan’s voice demanded. Catharine almost lost her grip, but scrabbled against the wall with her feet for support.
“Ned must have it,” the cook said.
Halfway through the window her skirt caught. She kicked again and the skirt tore free, dropping her to the ground in only her chemise. Agnes poked the skirt and tugged. It fell free in her hands. The three of them ran for the main street, Catharine fastening the skirt as they went.
They darted between carts, horses, and shops. Catharine glanced back and saw several armed men in pursuit. Where do we go now? We can’t keep this u
p for long. Bishopgate Street and the Trevor Great House were still too far. There - a small church. St. Ann’s of Renet, a sanctuary church. They’d not committed a civil crime so they could not claim sanctuary, but the idea of committing violence in a church ran against the nature of most men. That might save them. “To the church! We can rest there and send someone to Peter.”
They dashed into the church only steps ahead of their pursuers. Catharine slammed the heavy door in their faces, but their angry eyes and grimaces made her flesh crawl. The men made no attempt to follow.
Dim and cool inside, the church was lit through stained glass windows representing the Nativity and scenes of the young Christ in the Temple confounding the elders. Catharine genuflected to the alter and moved off past the pews to the chapel of St. Giles. They stood in the shadows, allowing their eyes to adjust. Candles lit for the souls of the living and the dead banked the great alter. A shadow, gigantic in size, moved toward them with purposeful strides. “Who’s there?”
Catharine drew in a surprised breath. “Father Nesbit.”
The tall priest stopped. His face pale in the dim light, brightened in recognition. “Lady Trobridge.”
“Aye. Criminals are chasing us. We were seeking safety,” Catharine said.
“No one will brother you here,” the priest said. “This must be Lady Elizabeth Trevor.” He frowned at the child, and glanced sharply at Catharine. “But I don’t understand. All the city knows she was taken for ransom three days ago. We’ve been praying ever since.”
“We found her, but the criminals captured us. We’ve just escaped.” Catharine sensed anger in the priest.
His dark eyes accessing her, he tapped his ink-stained fingers together. “I will send a man to your husband, Lady Trobridge. He will send an escort I’m sure. You’ll excuse me while I send my servant,” Nesbit disappeared wraith-like into the shadows.
“I don’t trust him, Catharine,” Bess whispered. “He makes my skin crawl.”
“A strange one, lassie,” Agnes muttered.