by McCall, Mary
“We did not say that,” Balen insisted in a placating manner. “We just happen to know Bernon’s capabilities better than you.”
“And I know Strangclyf.” She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands.
Balen clasped his fists behind his back and braced his stance. “We will not allow you to leave.”
“And I need your permission?” she asked, balling her fists and favoring them with her ferocious look.
“You need your husband’s permission,” Damon replied, casting a what-can-you-expect-from-a-woman glance at Balen.
She snorted then clenched her jaw and gritted out, “He is not here.”
“Then you cannot gain his permission,” Balen said in an overly patient tone as if he spoke to a daft child. “You do not want to face his displeasure, do you?”
“I am not going to talk you into going with me, am I?” she asked as her mind began tossing around plans for escaping her guards.
Balen smiled. “You are not inferior, sister. Your mind reasoned that out quite well.”
Barwolf took a deep breath and forced a serene expression on her face. “I would like to go to the chapel now, if you will show me the way, please.”
“But what about the queen?” Damon asked. “No one refuses her.”
“I cannot worry about her right now. I am going to keep a vigil this night, so I can pray for the safety of my husband and my king.” She let her glare break through. “I will also pray for the souls of the two men who let them ride toward death without helping me try to save them.”
Five
“I say ‘tis ridiculous to let good equipage go to waste,” said the beefy Saxon guard with long stringy dark hair and a blackened eye as he glared at the three warriors chained to the dungeon wall.
“Aye, Sarlic,” Attor, an equally unkempt soldier of medium stature, agreed. “And the way I remembers, Hadwyn said not to torture them to death. He wants ‘em alive for when Orlege gets here. Didn’t say we couldn’t have a little fun though, and I’m thinkin’ you should get some revenge for the big black one markin’ you.”
Sarlic sneered toward the three big Normans, the chains giving him courage. “I think you’re right. A nice brand would add character to his bald cheek.”
Walking to the round, stone fire pit in the center of the circular torture chamber at the heart of the Strangclyf dungeon, Sarlic pulled a poker from the flame and turned toward Bernon. His steps faltered a good eight feet away as Bernon’s eyes took on the appearance of boiling hematite. Sarlic restrained himself from making the sign of the cross then reminded himself the beast was chained.
“Do be quick with your kill, my friend,” Geno said in a disgusted tone as his angry gaze raked their guards. “Someone suffering so from stupidity should not be made to suffer a lingering death as well.”
“You are the stupid one,” Sarlic ranted, shaking the poker at Geno. “Chained to the wall at my mercy, yet you mock me.”
“Mayhap you should mark him instead,” Attor suggested, placing another iron in the blaze. “His pretty face would surely become more manly and improve his chances with the women in hell.”
“Nay, Attor. ‘Twas the Black Bear who marked me, so I will scar him,” Sarlic declared. “You may mangle the pretty boy.”
Bernon’s eyes narrowed as Sarlic took another step toward him. The Saxon not only stopped again, he also quaked.
“For heaven’s sake, Bernon. Stop frightening the fool, so he can get close enough for you to kill him,” King William ordered.
“Fool! You call me a fool! Why, you no-good bastard usurper! I’ll let you feel the fire first.” Sarlic changed directions. When the poker was a scant inch from William’s nose, Sarlic halted, wearing a surprised expression on his face, then crumbled at the king’s feet with a familiar pearl-handled dagger in his back.
Attor spun around, opening his mouth to call for help. Another dagger pierced his forehead, and he fell backward headfirst into the fire pit.
“Well zut!” Barwolf, garbed in a brown priest’s frock, ran from one of the three corridors into the chamber and grabbed Attor by the waist of his braies. She tried to tug his body out of the flames. Bernon watched her, unable to believe what he saw.
“What is wrong, dear?” Matilda asked as she entered the chamber, wearing similar apparel, and hurried to Barwolf’s side.
Barwolf grunted, maintaining her hold. “’Tis a perfectly good dagger, and I do not want it to melt.”
Matilda patted Barwolf’s shoulder and raised a mocking brow toward her husband. “Attor’s top half is probably quite burnt by now. We are both delicate flowers and should not subject ourselves to such a horrid sight.”
“I am not delicate. I’m small.” Barwolf grunted again. “There is a big difference.”
“But we do not want our men to know that, dear.” Matilda folded her arms in front of her and glared at the men. “They like to think of us as delicate. It gives their manly pride a lift to believe we need them to protect us. ‘Tis why they set men to guard us as prisoners. They think they can always save themselves. Let us not spoil their asinine opinions for them.”
“Of course they know they need us to save them, Your Grace. They are chained to a wall, for heaven’s sake. Ouch!” The flames caught Attor’s braies and Barwolf let go. She turned her ferocious glower on Bernon and placed her hands on her hips. “I hope you know I am very displeased to lose that dagger, milord. And I’m not letting you get out of this marriage by getting yourself killed either. You can send me away if you want to, but I refuse to be The Strangclyf again.”
She walked toward him, her emerald eyes glittering. She stopped by Sarlic and tried to push him over. “You have caused me a lot of problems, Bernon, aye, you have. Balen and Damon may never forgive me, and ‘tis all your fault.” Barwolf grunted in her effort to heave the burly guard over. “Queen Matilda, would you please bring your delicate self over here and help me push this pig on his side, so we can get the keys?”
Before Matilda moved, William reached out his leg, caught Sarlic’s shoulder with his toe, and pushed him over.
“Thank you for your help, Your Grace, but do not think I’m not angry at you too.” She raised disappointed eyes to her monarch. “You probably encouraged him, and after I told you Strangclyf was impervious to attack.”
Barwolf hefted the keys from Sarlic’s belt, stood up, and walked toward Bernon. “I would give you a piece of my mind, milord, but I have fretted most of it away on your account. I told you there was a secret that went with Strangclyf, but did you listen to me? Nay.” She stopped in front of her husband and tapped his right thigh with her fingers. “Are you right-handed or left-handed?”
Bernon didn’t answer. He was too caught up in a surge of relief. His bride had a backbone. He would set her straight later about turning her temper on him, of course. But honest to God, he was glad to see her fire.
Geno, with a chuckle in his tone, called out, “He is right-handed, little wolf.”
“Thank you, Geno. I do not blame you. You were trying to protect them, I’m sure.” Barwolf stretched up on her toes and couldn’t raise her hand much higher than Bernon’s shoulder, so she couldn’t reach the chain holding his left arm above his head. She gasped and raised horrified eyes to his. Then she bowed her head and patted his left leg. “I apologize for being short, Bernon. Will you let me stand on your thigh, so I may reach the shackle, please?”
Her question was a bare whisper. Bernon couldn’t believe the sudden transformation to submissive behavior. And why in perdition did it make a difference if he was right- or left-handed? “Put your foot against my thigh and your hands on my shoulder.”
She did as he instructed, keeping her eyes averted. He bent his knee while raising his leg. She still had a far reach, but managed to get the key in the shackle and free Bernon’s left arm. She tried jumping backward off his leg, but he caught her about the waist and pulled her against him. Putting his mouth against her ear, he whispered, “Why did you un
chain my left arm first after Geno told you I was right-handed?”
“So I could get away before you knocked me upside my head for losing my unfortunate temper,” she whispered back, refusing to look at him.
She was shaking with terror. Had he not already told her that he did not hit women? She insulted him with her fear. “You will move to my other leg and unchain my right arm.”
He felt a shudder surge through her, then one of her feet brushed against his right thigh. Her obedience made up for her previous insult and he was pleased with her again. His little bride was brave. He raised her up. She took longer with this lock due to her trembling. Just as the shackle released, a hot tear hit his flesh. He pulled her against him.
She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “I’m glad you are all right, Bernon. And I am sorry I lost my temper. I would not have done so if not for fear that we would be too late.”
“I will never hit you, ma belle,” he said, lightly stroking her back as her tears scalded his flesh. He couldn’t believe the fear he sensed in her tiny form. “I have already told you this.”
“When?” she asked and sniffed.
“When I carried you back to our chamber after dinner. You drank too much wine and had trouble walking.” He nudged up her chin.
“I do not remember much after we sat down to dine,” she confessed as a pink tint swept across her cheeks.
“Bernon, I appreciate the fact that you want to comfort your wife,” Matilda said. “But I want William to comfort me before someone with a sword comes and chops off his head. So would you release him before I lose my unfortunate temper?”
“Let go of my neck, my dear, so I can loose King William and Geno.” Bernon set Barwolf on the ground then quickly freed the other men. He looked around for his bride and found her trying to push Sarlic over. “What are you doing?”
“Getting your dagger back.” She suddenly stopped and slapped a palm against her brow, “Oh zut! I killed two men and I am not sorry! I’m going to burn in hell for all eternity because I am not sorry!” She wiped frantically at tears gushing down her cheeks with the sleeve of her frock then wrapped her arms around herself and began chanting, “I am valuable, rare, and precious. I am valuable, rare, and precious. I am...”
Matilda pushed Bernon in the back, urging him toward Barwolf. “Bernon, she did this the other day after she immobilized Balen and Damon. That litany keeps going. Get her and follow me, so we can leave before we are found out. The pigs upstairs are occupied with the nooning meal, but I do not trust swine.”
Bernon crossed the chamber, removed the dagger from Sarlic, and slipped the blade into the empty sheath on his braiel. Then he picked up Barwolf. She clung to him as he followed Matilda and the others down a long corridor passing at least ten empty cells. “I am valuable, rare, and precious. I am valuable rare, and precious. I am valuable, rare, and precious.”
“You are brave too,” Bernon whispered in her ear.
She turned wide glistening eyes to his. “I am?”
“Aye. You yelled at a bear, and then you removed his chains. Don’t break down on me now, ma petite. Wait until the danger is passed.”
They arrived at the end of the corridor, and Matilda halted, a puzzled frown marring her brow. “We have come the wrong way. Let’s go back.”
Barwolf glanced up. “Nay, you are right. I closed it. Bernon, let me down, please.”
“What did you close?” he asked, setting her down.
“Access to the maze. ‘Tis the secret of Strangclyf.” She faced the small group. “Everyone except Bernon must turn around. I may reveal the secret to no one else.”
William, Matilda, and Geno turned away. Barwolf walked to the end wall, slipped her fingers along the left side of a stone, and pulled. After a few grunts and zuts, the stone’s face sprang open. She reached inside a hollowed out area and released a lever. A portion of the wall to her left opened inward with a grinding noise. Then she closed the stone and turned around. “’Tis dark, so everyone hold hands and do not wander. Wait for me just inside the entrance.”
“I will enter after you,” Bernon said as the others filed into the passage.
“Then give me your hand.” Barwolf placed her hand in his and pulled him in behind her. “Bernon, put your hand on my shoulder, so I can close the access.”
Bernon placed his hand on her shoulder. She opened a compartment in the stone wall and pulled a lever. The entrance scraped shut, throwing the area into pitch darkness.
“Hold onto each other and do not let go for any reason. We are in a labyrinth, and you will be hard to find if you get lost. These passages are littered with the bones of people who thought the maze was a simple set of passageways.”
Bernon’s hand remained on her shoulder, and she placed her fingers over his then led them through twists and turns that seemed to ascend and descend in various places. She finally halted and removed her hand from his. The sound of a lever flipping preceded a scraping noise as the wall opened to a dimly lit chamber.
“We are at the heart of the maze. You can let go of each other. Please stamp your feet, so you do not track the maze dirt onto my lord’s clean marble floor.” After they were all out of the passage, Barwolf turned an ornamental carving on the wall, and the doorway closed. “Come, eat and drink. Then I will tell Bernon the secret, so you may save your men.”
“They are alive then?” Bernon asked.
Barwolf nodded. “Aye. We have no lions like the Romans once did, so Hadwyn awaits reinforcements from Orlege before confronting them. There is food on the dais, so come and eat.”
“We will not eat until the men are freed,” Bernon said, grabbing her by the arm as she turned away.
“What is this place?” Geno asked, his voice filled with awe as he glanced around the chamber.
Huge ionic columns supported a vaulted ceiling. In the dim light of a few torches and several bronze Roman oil lamps, a white marble floor with wavy, gray veins and an irregular pink marble inlaid design was visible. Bernon frowned, knowing the Roman’s favored symmetry for such works. Set off-center at the far end of the chamber, a mosaic yellow tile sun graced the floor near the base of a dais surrounded by seven steps on three sides. A large carved marble chair dominated the center of the dais, with “ARMA*ET*URSI*TUENTUR*PACEM” carved into the wall high above the throne. To the right of the platform a large copper and bronze gong reflected the fire of a torch, brightening the area.
“’Twas the main throne room used by the tribune who governed for Caesar. I call it Jupiter’s Hall because of the floor.” Barwolf raked her fingers through her hair, and Bernon realized it was her main sign of nervousness. “Jupiter was the Roman sun god. The motto above the seat of state is Latin and means ‘arms and bears maintain peace.’”
Bernon gave her a sharp look at the mention of bears, but she faced Geno as she spoke.
“’Tis fascinating,” William said in a hushed tone. “I had no idea anything like this existed in England.”
“’Tis because the labyrinth’s existence is a secret,” she said with a touch of pride lilting her tone. “Some of the other parts of this structure are still intact. The living quarters are down two corridors hidden in the shadows at the corners on this side of the chamber. A corridor in the corner on the far side of the dais leads to some other chambers. I do not understand all their functions yet. The stairs against the far wall lead nowhere, but probably went to the roof at one time. The Romans built the original settlement into the cliff, so it could not be seen from the sea. In the year 587, Walerian, the first man to be called The Strangclyf, had the whole place stoned over, fashioned a fort above, and made passages into the old structure. I’m not sure why.”
“Who carved the maze into the mountain?” Bernon asked, marveling at the remarkable preservation of the ruins.
“Roman soldiers and captives they turned into slaves. There are grates along the gorge from some of the passages where they could release lions to attack th
eir trapped enemies.” She raised a nervous expression to Bernon. “’Tis best if you eat before freeing your men, Bernon. ‘Tis not heavy fare and I can tell you more while you do.”
“She’s right,” Matilda agreed and ushered William and Geno toward the dais where a small meal awaited, leaving Bernon and Barwolf alone.
“Will you eat if I get the food, milord?” Barwolf asked. “I have fixed the gorge so no one can get to your men until you free them.”
“Why did you not tell me about the trap?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of him and gazing down at her. “You seem to want me safe, but you not telling me is suspicious.
“I told you Strangclyf was impervious and I would give you the secret. If you had told me you were leaving, I would have told you more about the holding sooner. ‘Tis not as if we had much conversation together before you...” She gasped then raised anxious eye to his. “You do not think I wanted you to get caught, do you?”
God’s bones, she looked wounded, and how should he answer her? Habit made him think she had, but her actions showed otherwise. He wiped a hand over his face.
“You do!” She fisted her hands, turning bright red, and her eyes glistened. “Merciful heavens, I do not know if I should be disappointed or angry. I never expected you to like me or be pleased with me. All I wanted was to do my duty and make you The Strangclyf, so the children would be safe. If I wanted you dead, I would not have sought you out. I would have stayed here and trapped you myself. I certainly would not have put myself through the last eight days of pretending I was not afraid when I have been terrified out of my wits. You said I am brave, but you are wrong. I am a coward and I am scared of everything—especially you.” She wiped frantically at her tears and sniffed then raised horrified eyes to him. She bowed her head and clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “I apologize, milord. Please forgive my terrible outburst.”
He was beginning to hate her submissive pose. “Why do you fear me?”
“Because you hate me, and I will never please you, and when you instruct me, I will not be able to bear it.”