Despite his care, however, they did just that. Fortunately, the road curved after the turnoff, and Raymond caught a glimpse of the black rectangle of a tower against the luminous sky before they had gone far. All turned eagerly when Raymond called out. They were cold and tired and very glad to be done with their journey. It was with hearty goodwill that all shouted for admittance.
There was a light in the gate tower, but Raymond was not sanguine about the wakefulness of the guard. One on the wall and one below at the gate itself were all he had decreed. There was, after all, nothing but thieves to guard against, and no thief would attack a closed keep. Nor could sixteen men-at-arms do anything more than two against any force strong enough to dare the walls.
On the top floor of the castle, the four men who had entered the women’s quarters had covered about half the distance to Alys’s chamber when one of the maidservants Alys had disturbed a little earlier stirred and opened her eyes. For a moment she lay still, half asleep, watching the candle and wondering why her mistress was wandering about so restlessly this night. In the next instant she realized it was a man carrying the candle and that there were others following him. Almost simultaneously, she recognized the face of the leader. A shriek of pure terror was wrenched from her before thought could urge the silence of caution. Two other women were not yet completely asleep. Startled into sitting up, they, too, screamed. The three cries woke the other women, who also began to shriek at the sight of the devils they had thought were confined below. With utter contempt, the leader did not even pause. One of the other men, however, shouted, “Shut your mouths,” and started off toward the women’s pallets to enforce his orders.
Seeing him advance in their direction made several others push off their blankets and leap to their feet. Two of the women, thinking only to escape their terror, ran for the door. A second man moved to intercept them. Stupid as the four men might be, they were not so stupid as to want the menservants in the main hall warned. They had no fear of the women, whom they thought of as cowed animals, but they did not want the creatures running out into the bailey, screaming with fear, and alerting Alys’s men-at-arms.
At the first shriek, Bertha, who lay in the small chamber on the other side of the anteroom from Alys’s bedchamber, started awake. When the second two women cried out, she rose from her bed muttering angrily, “What the devil has started those silly hens to cackling?” The male voice made her hesitate a bare instant. Could the lord have come home? She was drawing on her outer gown even as the thought crossed her mind. Lord Raymond might desire food or drink, and she must certainly quiet those women or he would be furious. Lighting a candle from her night light, Bertha darted from her chamber. Alys had bounded out of bed at the first scream. She had not been asleep. She had been lying quiet by force of will, calling herself a fool because she was tense with fear. The maidservant’s cry, then, was almost a relief. She had known something was wrong; she had felt it. Alys had her bedrobe and slippers on before the second two shrieks rang out and her candle lit before the man’s voice called for silence. Her heart leapt once with joy and relief before she realized the deep, coarse voice was not Raymond’s. Terror replaced joy. Alys could not imagine from where the threat came nor how she could defend herself. If the enemy was already in her women’s quarters, that meant her own men had been overpowered. All Alys could grasp at was to bar her doors. Whatever small delay that would create might at least give her time to think. She rushed from her bedchamber with her candle in her left hand and her eating knife in her right, just as Bertha emerged from the other room. The sight of two men jolted Bertha instantaneously into fear. Although she had no time to think clearly, instinct bred by lifelong habit told her that no man but the master ever came into the women’s quarters. She screamed and threw what happened to be in her hand—the candle—right into the second man’s face.
The hot wax splashed his cheek, and the candlestick struck his neck. His hand flew up to ward off the missile and soothe the hurt, and grabbed the guttering candle, holding it still for a single instant before he thrust it away. But the thrusting motion came too late. In the split second he had paused, the flame ignited his grease-laden hair. He screamed, which distracted the leader’s attention just long enough for Alys, with her knife, to slash the hand outstretched to seize her, and dart out through the door.
Bellowing with rage and pain, the leader ran after her, leaving the other man shrieking and beating at his hair with his hands. Bertha had frozen after she had thrown the candle, but seeing the helpless terror of the man she had set afire reduced her fear enough to allow her to act. Had the way to the door been clear, she would have run out after Alys. However, her screaming victim was now blocking her path, so she seized a small table by the legs from beside Alys’s chair and swung it with all her strength at his head.
The table struck with a most satisfying thunk. Bertha emitted a yell of glee and rushed out, still carrying the table. The outer room was in complete chaos, full of screaming women running about like chickens with their heads off. One man was still by the door. The moment he moved, women ran toward what they hoped would be safety. Bertha could see him because the night candle placed nearby was still burning. She looked about for her mistress, but in their senseless running about, the maidservants had knocked over the two other night candles, which had, as a result, been extinguished, and the main room was totally black at the far end.
When Alys had gone out the doorway, she had paused for one instant to repeat Bertha’s maneuver. Hers, unfortunately, was not equally successful. The man following her dodged easily and, still bellowing with rage, charged forward at her. Alys, however, had not run straight ahead. She had turned toward the door to the stairs, but stopped abruptly when she saw the man on guard there. Meanwhile, the man who had been pursuing her had snatched at a maidservant who crossed his path.
He held her just long enough to see that her hair was not blonde, but that was long enough. While he threw the maidservant from him so that she screamed with mingled pain and relief, Alys ran past behind him toward the darkest part of the room. She almost shrieked aloud herself when a huge shadow rose before her, but she realized in time that it was one of the looms, which had been set up. She darted behind it and felt safe enough for the moment to pause, catch her breath, and look around.
Although it was very dark where she stood, Alys could see into the room moderately well because figures moved against the light of the one remaining night candle. What she saw was a revelation. Aside from the man at the door, there were only two larger figures. The women seemed to be running wild more from simple terror than from being pursued. This knowledge steadied Alys so that her mind cleared. Immediately she guessed from the stance of the man at the door that no reinforcements were expected. This would be a most unlikely eventuality if an enemy force of some kind had entered Blancheforte and had killed or captured her men-at-arms. The first place conquerors headed was the women’s quarters, where the richest fabrics and the strongbox were likely to be kept.
Then Alys noticed something even more significant about the man she could see clearly. He had no weapons and was dressed in filthy rags. She realized these were not invaders, they were the prisoner men-at-arms! What a fool she had been to take for granted that all the remaining servants hated and feared those men. One of them had sneaked down and released them, or perhaps it was one of the erstwhile favorites who had returned to Blancheforte in the guise of a laborer. Fury rose in Alys, but she quelled it. Rage could lead to rashness.
If only the women were not such hysterical fools, there would have been no danger at all. While any two grappled with one of the men, a third could strike him senseless from behind. If she could call out to them, order them, they might come to their senses, but it was clear that the men were not merely trying to seize any woman, they were searching for her. Suddenly someone came out of her apartment carrying something. The man Bertha had distracted? No. The form was too small. It must be Bertha herself. Perhaps the two
of them could manage alone, but Alys knew she needed a better weapon than her small eating knife.
She thrust the knife into the belt of her robe and began to feel around the loom for a loose piece that might be wrenched off to serve as a club. In a minute she desisted, cursing herself for wasting time. The loom had been repaired only a few days previously under the direction of the two weaving women Alys had hired to teach, or reteach, the Blancheforte maids this work. There was no chance any of the wooden dowels would have dried and loosened. But weaving led her mind instantly to spinning. A distaff, with its standing shaft and heavy foot, would make a most excellent club.
Now the darkness, which had been a friend, became an enemy. Alys could have wept with frustration when she realized she had become disoriented and did not know where the spinning instruments were. Had they been moved back against the walls? In Marlowe that was always done, but that was because there were many more maids in Marlowe and the space was needed to lay out the sleeping pallets. Here, if the maids had not been specially instructed, they would not have moved a heap of filth from the floor.
Still, it was necessary to move, to do something quickly. Alys could see Bertha’s head turning from side to side anxiously. She could not believe her mistress was among the shrieking, darting women and was looking for some stealthy movement. Alys’s mind scurried round and round like a rat in a trap, but she could not think of a way to attract Bertha’s attention without also attracting the two men’s. The intruders had managed to grab and overcome two of the women already. She would have to find a distaff and move to attack one of the men, hoping that Bertha would rush to her assistance and that perhaps one or two of those cackling geese would also come to their senses.
Wasting no more time, Alys moved back away from the loom until she could sense the cold seeping from the stone wall. Then she went to the left, bending down and sweeping her hands gently ahead of her. With any luck at all, Bertha would instinctively have followed Marlowe practice. The distaffs and carding devices would be against the wall, and she would come in contact with one or the other quickly. Perhaps Bertha would even notice her moving.
At first, luck seemed to be with her. Only a few steps past the loom, Alys’s hand came upon a carding device. She grasped at it eagerly, but it was too heavy and awkward for her purpose. Breathing curses, she went forward quickly, passing another carding device. Surely the distaffs were here, also. God could not be so cruel as to have allowed Bertha to direct the spinners be separated from the carders. No, it was not sensible.
Just as Alys told herself that, firmly repressing a dreadful urge to weep aloud, her hand struck the narrower shaft of a distaff. It rocked precariously because she had hit the side, but she grasped it before it fell. Made incautious by relief, she grabbed it in both hands and lifted. At that point Alys’s luck gave out. Her elbow hit another distaff placed neatly close by, and that one struck still another. Feeling what she had done, Alys grabbed wildly for the falling distaff. Naturally she missed, merely lending impetus to the fall. Both went over with a dull clatter, while the one she had lifted dropped to the floor again with a thud.
Both men stopped and turned in the direction of the sound. They could not know who was hiding in the dark but, though neither was clever, both realized it must be a “new” person. They promptly converged toward the noise. Alys gasped with fear. She could not manage both. Her instinct was to run away, but there was nowhere to go except behind the loom, and there she would be trapped and unable to swing her weapon, such as it was. Desperately she tried to lift the distaff, only to discover the foot had caught under something and would not rise.
On the floor below, chaos also reigned. The last eight men had waited a few minutes until they believed the four ahead of them would have passed up beyond the entrance to the main hall. Then they went as quickly as they could, watching for the faint glow of the banked fire and night candles that usually marked the entry to the hall. It did not occur to them that these would not be visible. As long as they had ruled the keep, the door had always hung open.
It was pure accident that they did not end on the battlements above the building proper, because the dark and their anxiety disoriented them. The first man did not realize he had reached the main floor landing, but, in feeling for the next step, he staggered sideways, uttering a low cry and windmilling his arms. Instead of helping, this unbalanced him further, and he tilted more, so terrified that he would fall off the edge of the stairs and down the shaft of the tower that his breath caught in his throat and he could not scream. The man behind had also stepped onto the landing because all had kept close after their whispered conference. He grasped for his companion, not out of concern for him but because he had heard him cry out and wished to stifle any more noise before it gave warning.
His support prevented the first man from falling heavily against the door, but his outflung hand did touch it. The realization that there was something besides empty darkness beyond him restored his rationality, and he reached out to touch again, partly to reassure himself but also to confirm that it was wood he had felt. Assured, he turned to mutter at the men crowding up behind him, “They have closed the door.”
“Is it barred?” came a fearful whisper.
“What will we do?” another whimpered.
“How did Ernaldus get out if it is barred from within?” a third cried.
He was urgently hushed, although it was not likely his voice would pierce the four-inch-thick planks that made up the door. The question, however, was most reasonable. The men, if they gave Ernaldus a thought, believed him to be skulking in the dark below, expecting them to do his dirty work for him. It never occurred to them that he was already gone.
“Perhaps he closed it so that none should hear him on the stairs,” a hopeful voice suggested softly.
Encouraged by this logical answer to the preceding question, the first man lifted the latch and pushed. He barely repressed a cry of joy when the door opened, but his rejoicing was somewhat premature. The door swung barely halfway before it came in contact with an obstruction.
Because the man who opened the door wished to minimize the screech of the hinges, not knowing they had been well greased, he had moved it slowly. Thus, the edge nudged Aelfric gently, rather than striking him with force. He grunted softly and, being deeply asleep, rolled away from the pressure and toward his wife. In dangerous circumstances such a thing would never have happened, for Aelfric was a good soldier and a conscientious man. However, he slept in the doorway because it was Lord Raymond’s order. By now, Aelfric knew there was no danger from the castle servants. Moreover, being newly married, he had taken full advantage of his wife’s presence. In fact, he had taken more than ordinary advantage. Usually Edith slept turn-about with Bertha in the chamber across from Alys’s, but Bertha’s husband had gone with Raymond. Thus, Edith had been available to her husband for an extra night.
Now, when Aelfric rolled over virtually atop her, Edith was much surprised and somewhat annoyed. She had done her duty, and enjoyed it, but she had to be awake early. She pushed Aelfric away irritably, murmuring, “Get off me, you ox. Enough is enough.”
The sharp shove and Edith’s voice half woke Aelfric, who tried to roll back to his original position. Naturally, he hit the door, which moved ponderously away from him and pushed against the man who was coming in. This was not the first man. He had heard Aelfric’s initial grunt. Realizing a man was sleeping near the door, he had leapt through immediately, angling away so that he would not step on Aelfric. The second man, hard on his heels, had not realized at first that the door had stopped half-open because there was a human obstruction behind it. He assumed the first man had opened it no wider out of caution and was careful not to push it farther. He, too, came through quickly, wishing to avoid being pushed from behind. As he entered, however, he heard Edith’s murmured remark and moved instinctively away from the sound so that he did not step on Aelfric, either.
It was the third man the door swung agains
t. Since neither of the men who had gone before had bothered to warn him that there was someone on the other side, they being solely intent on their own escape, he shoved the door away with considerable force. This time it hit Aelfric hard, and as he was already half-awake, he shouted and began to struggle out of his blankets and grope for the sword that lay by his side. However, the weapon had been pushed under the pallet by the first nudge of the door and was not immediately available to his hand.
On his knees, still tangled in his covers, Aelfric tried to push the door closed with one hand while searching desperately for his sword with the other. His shout and Edith’s scream of fear wakened Alys’s other men-at-arms, who were sleeping closer to the hearth for the warmth the banked fire offered. However, the yells also warned the freed prisoners. Since their only path of escape was through the hall, they were made desperate by discovery. The remaining five men surged forward, crowding against the door and knocking Aelfric backward. Edith screamed even louder.
The hall was dark, the light of the few night candles and the dim glow of embers from the hearth swallowed up in the immensity of the place. Nonetheless, there was enough light for Aelfric to see shadows passing him. This was not a matter of one servant trying to creep up to the women’s quarters.
“Ware! Guards! To arms!” Aelfric bellowed, his voice barely overriding his wife’s shrieks. As he shouted, he rolled over, trying to struggle to his feet.
The other men, already alerted by his first shout of surprise, seized their weapons and pushed away their blankets. Since all their experience told them an invasion would come from the outer door, several rushed off in that direction. It was far easier to stem an attack at the narrow passage of the entrance door, where only one or two men at a time could enter. Here they found the first few men who had come through the stairwell door desperately trying to lift the bar to escape. One was cut down at once. The others ran screaming from the threat, their shrieks mingling with those of the wounded man and Edith.
Winter Song Page 17