Knight's Honor

by Roberta Gellis

  "None came here. You said to warn the men when they came to bring us food."

  Sir Alan ground his teeth as well as he could for pain; he had been much cut about on the face. "Ass! If we ever get out of this alive, I will have you flayed. How long?"

  "As long as it might take to go a mile at a foot pace."

  "Herbert."

  "Sir?"

  "Spread the word among the men—but quietly—that they should seek along the walls and floors for anything, metal, sharp stones, the buckles of their belts, anything that may be used to pick the lock or work around the wood and loosen it."

  "Sir Alan," Herbert protested, "that door is oak as hard as iron itself, and the lock is no child's plaything. Our first plan is better."

  "Oh God, why am I cursed with a troop of moonlings? Did you not hear? The keep is under attack. Why do you think men came to carry arms? Do you think they will stop to bring us food? I know not who Lord Peverel's enemies may be, but if enemy to him then friend to us, and my heart cries out that it is our own lord seeking his lady and his men. Mayhap we will not win free, but will you sit here in the dark while your lord fights and not try to give him aid?"

  He stopped, gasping with weakness, but be had said enough. The spirits of the men near enough to hear rose almost to gladness. The insults and threats of their captain were old familiar friends, indicating to his men only that he was feeling better, and they had all been with Hereford in desperate situations before. His name was, to them, almost a magic password of success.

  "The earl is come."

  "Lord Hereford has come for us."

  The words were whispered from man to man together with the orders of Alan of Evesham. Hastily but carefully, one man still watching at the door to guard against surprise, the search was begun. Patient hands, hard as the pitiful implements they found to use with much handling of weapons, began to work at the wooden frame near the lock and around the lock seated in the door. That the task was very nearly hopeless did not discourage them; at least there was work to be done.

  With rage and disbelief Lord Peverel had watched the first cask of Greek fire, a flaming mixture of tar, pitch, and oil, fly over the outer wall. The second, which set a storehouse in the bailey alight, sent him into violent action. He shouted at de Caldoet to send out messengers to the king and to assume the defense of the outer walls. He himself would hold the inner keep, he added in a voice which he managed to keep firm only by a great effort. He need not have bothered, for de Caldoet was not likely to be deceived by a firm tone in a man who abandoned his outer defenses to another before they were even threatened.

  The mercenary was a trifle surprised. Peverel was not ordinarily a coward, although he plainly was no man to cling to his courage in a forlorn hope. De Caldoet could only assume that Peverel knew more about the strength of the attackers than he admitted. Well, well, de Caldoet thought, that was no problem. If they were too strong, he would open the gates to them upon promise of freedom for himself and his men. He would even help them take the inner keep for a price, and there was no doubt he would get his price for he knew the castle well and could be invaluable to his master's enemies. At present there was no particular danger and he could afford to stand his ground.

  Peverel was thinking very similar thoughts as he made for the great inner donjon with rather unseemly haste. He recognized the irrationality of his behavior but could do nothing about it because a cold fear had a grip on him that he could not shake. His mind was sure that Nottingham could not be taken if well defended and that he had done the one thing that could endanger it. Nonetheless he was terrified, too shaken to give orders or urge his men to fight. In fact it had taken all his strength not to seize a horse, order a company to follow him, and ride away. All he could do now was to hide until he could command himself again. To try to command his men in the state in which he was, was to make cowards of them all by convincing them their situation was hopeless.

  In the gray light of a dawn that promised more rain, Walter of Hereford drew rein on a rise to consider how best to trouble Peverel. He had no expectation of being able to storm the keep with five hundred men, for he had none of the machines or weapons necessary for such an effort. Nor, in spite of his elder brother's fears, was he mad enough to try to take Nottingham Castle by surprise. He could, however— The thought stopped dead in his mind as his eyes took in the landscape before him. Burnt out! It was burnt out, and lately. Smoke was still curling lazily from the ruins of ricks and huts. Walter raised his eyes from the fields to the walls of Nottingham. There was fire within the keep also!

  The first notion that came to him with a flash of rage was that his brother had made a fool of him again and had beaten him to the attack. He very nearly cried out and ordered his men to charge. He was, however, an experienced soldier in spite of his youth and was restrained by his own good sense. It was impossible. Even if Hereford had lied and his men were fresh he could have come no quicker, and Walter knew what he gazed upon was the work of several hours.

  Walter frowned. The Constable of Nottingham had many enemies, but unfortunately not all of them would, for that reason, be friends to Hereford. It was plain enough from what he saw, however, that Nottingham keep was in no immediate danger of falling into the hands of its foes. Walter lifted the mail band under his helmet to scratch his forehead.

  What now? He could see no sign of the raiders, had no idea of their strength or even where they were. One thing alone was certain; he and his men could not sit there forever. They would have to move one way or another soon because the darkness was rapidly yielding to morning and in that scorched area there was no place to hide.

  Walter turned his head to speak over his shoulder to his master-at-arms. "Let four men ride back along our trail seeking my brother Hereford. Say unto him that Nottingham is already afire but not by me, and that he should make all haste to join me here. Let two man lie here on the rise and watch what goes forward. Send another twelve round about to discover if they can who has set these flames, but let them have a care not to fall into the hands of the raiders. I have no desire yet that they should know we are here. Bid the men ride a little below the ridge also, that they do not show themselves when the sun rises."

  He then looked around and gestured the men toward a wooded area that would provide some shelter. Without more ado he dismounted, his squire running up to take his horse, and lay down on the ground in a bed of bracken. It was cold and damp, but he was used to that. It might take his men ten minutes or two hours to return with the information he wanted and he would use the time for rest because there might well be heavy fighting ahead.

  The messengers found Hereford without difficulty, and the army made what speed it could. The horses were still tired, however, and the terrain difficult so that it was midmorning before Hereford finally flung himself off his mount and shook his brother awake.

  "I have half killed us getting here, Walter. It is good to find you so much at ease. What the hell is going forth?"

  "You need not knock the teeth out of my head. Why should I not take my ease? Our work is being done for us—look."

  They walked to the rise and looked over the fields which were no longer smoking but lay black and sodden under the light drizzle. Nothing moved in those fields nor, as far as either of the men of Hereford could tell, in the keep itself. The drawbridge was up, the gates tight shut; if a man moved on the battlements, it was impossible for him to be seen from where they stood. At that hour of the morning there should have been work parties going and coming in time of peace or war parties going out to make forages against the enemy in time of war. Strangest of all was the fact that there was not a sight or sound of the attackers.

  Walter looked into his brother's puzzled blue eyes. "So it has been since I came. Then the fields were still burning and there was fire in the keep too, but not a man have we seen except the slain in the village."

  "For what do they wait? Why do they not come out, more especially since there is no army camp
ed before them."

  "Why ask me? I have been waiting here since dawn for that very thing, thinking to fall upon them and take to myself credit for what I have not done. He who has thus laid his shoulder to our wheel is gone like smoke in the air."

  Hereford shrugged and turned to consult Lord Radnor, who had not dismounted. Roger was not as blankly surprised at finding Nottingham under attack as his brother was, since he had had a hand in arousing feeling against Peverel in more than one quarter. He could not, however, understand the tactics being used. It was mad to fire the fields and the keep and then ride away. Still he could not doubt the word or efficiency of Walter's men who had sought for miles around and found nothing. The quiet prevailing over the castle itself was also a puzzle, unless—unless the keep were already taken, the battle over when Walter arrived.

  "No." Radnor replied definitely to that. "It could not be. At the least there would be wains carrying forth the plunder. I do not know what this bodes, Hereford, but I say we are big enough. What profit to sit here wondering? Let us go down and camp on the fields before the keep, let us cry our defiance, and take him if we can."

  "Walter?" Hereford questioned, turning to his brother with deliberate courtesy.

  The younger man looked up in surprise. His brother was much more in the habit of telling him what to do than asking his opinion. Such deference made him suspicious, but he could see nothing in Hereford's face or manner that was not reasonable in the circumstances.

  "We can do naught else unless you think to tempt them out by showing only a small portion of our men. Somehow, I do not think they will fight unless we attack, no matter how we move. I am willing to do as Lord Radnor suggests."

  They had, in fact, little other choice. There was no longer any chance of storming the keep by surprise, although Hereford had never counted much upon that opportunity anyway. Most castles were always on guard and quickly defended and Peverel's surely would be because he was cordially hated by most of his neighbors. They could have done little more than what was already accomplished for them, except, perhaps, to have kept the livestock and grain to feed themselves and their horses. The men moved down over the rise in a long column behind their leaders and around the keep well out of arrow range. Somewhat beyond the embers of the village a camp was begun while Radnor, Hereford, and Walter continued around to see what they could learn of the construction of the keep and the lay of the land.

  It took them about half an hour, for they went slowly and then more slowly, looking at the gray stone walls and looking even oftener at each other. Not a sound came from within the walls, not an arrow was loosed at them, not a sign of movement did they see. The silence weighed on the spirit. It gave the feeling that eyes, not human and angry but cold and dead, watched from behind dead walls. On the north side of the castle they stopped. Without the elaborate equipment for the assault of a keep, which might take weeks to build, this was the place to attack. By common consent, yet without speaking a word, they moved closer to the walls, closer still, tempting the bowmen to make them a mark … nothing.

  "Can they be all dead?" Hereford murmured, somehow unwilling to break in upon the stillness with a normal speaking voice. He had the feeling that if he spoke aloud he would wake something horrible behind the quiet walls.

  The others too suffered from the same sensation, and for a long minute they were still. Suddenly the tension was too much for Walter. His sword sang with the swiftness with which he drew it, and he clashed it against the metal bosses of his shield, waking echoes and crying out, "Come out. Come out and fight, you rotting lepers. You toads who eat filth—fight—or open your gates and make way for men to enter."

  Radnor and Hereford half raised their shields now expecting the hail of shafts so long delayed, but nothing came except one coarse laugh. A postern door, so cleverly concealed that they never would have seen it, opened surprisingly near them. A man, as large as Lord Radnor, even heavier, and a good deal uglier appeared in it.

  "Come in, my little cockerel, if you will. Mayhap on our dung heap you will not crow so loud. It might be also that you will crow to get out even more vainly than you crow to come in."

  Hereford's horse was in front of Walter's, blocking his, even before he could set spurs to it, but the spell was broken. The earl's clear laugh rang out shattering the stillness again.

  "Upon your kind invitation, O avowed dweller in a dung heap, we will come. But we are the masters here. We will come in our own time and in our own way. Tell your master for me that Roger, Earl of Hereford, comes to reclaim his jewel from the dross." His face grew suddenly so grim that even de Caldoet was a trifle shaken. "He may save his life and his keep by sending her out to me with my men, but if there is one stain of his filth upon her, I shall not leave one stone standing upon another to mark this place, nor will gold or blood buy either his freedom or his death."

  All three turned and galloped away, the arrows they had vainly expected before singing around them now. Fortunately they took no hurt, and when they drew up out of bowshot, Hereford laughed again. He clapped his brother heartily on the shoulder. "Good for you, Walter. You pricked the fool and he showed us the gateway to our desire. Let us mark the place well. My heart, too, is lighter, for I had almost thought they were under some evil enchantment."

  In a way Hereford was correct and the keep was enchanted. The spell of Peverel's fear was spreading, paralyzing the defenders and filling them with despair and the expectation of defeat. That was the price paid when men fought largely for reasons of personal loyalty. Since they had no goals of their own to strive for, they responded to the slightest sign of discouragement or weakness in their leaders.

  De Caldoet could have given them confidence, for he certainly was not yet afraid, but he did not care to stiffen their morale before he was sure whether fighting or yielding would pay him better. He climbed rapidly back up to the battlements to watch the three companions ride off around the keep to return to their camp. Then with a half smile he went to bring Hereford's message to Peverel.

  Partially he wished to judge whether Peverel really did know anything more of Hereford's strength than was apparent, and partially he simply wished to enjoy watching Peverel squirm. He had that pleasure, but not to the degree he had expected, and the information he gained was of an entirely different sort. Peverel had spent the night hatching a plan for saving his skin in any event and one that he hoped would gain his ends without endangering his keep. To this plan de Caldoet listened and agreed, although he would be the one to take what risk there was. He would also stand to gain a good deal, and from his point of view the risk was small.

  Peverel's chief squire was armed and sent as a herald to Roger of Hereford's camp. His message was brief. If Hereford would agree to his safe coming and going, de Caldoet would meet him in the field before the drawbridge to discuss terms of peace before useless damage be done to Hereford's men and Peverel's. The herald was instructed to cry his message aloud in the camp, not to give it to Hereford privately. Peverel knew that this would force Hereford to come to the meeting even if he was unwilling to do so, because he could not chance that his men would think he was afraid or that he would sacrifice them needlessly.

  "It is a trap," Lord Radnor said.

  "The coward will yield us all," Walter laughed.

  Hereford pulled the lobe of his ear, a worried frown wrinkling his brow. He did not believe either of his companions to be wholly right or wholly wrong. It did seem likely that Peverel was afraid, from his behavior, but that a man so completely devoted to his own self-interest could mean to yield so easily seemed impossible. Nor was it likely that even a treacherous brute like de Caldoet would take the chance of attacking him in the full sight of his army with his friend and his brother free to direct a fearful retaliation. De Caldoet's death in such an event would be certain, and he was too self-interested a creature to take such a risk.

  "What surety of safety does de Caldoet ask?"

  The herald was primed for that one and he
called the answer loud enough for many of the armed men pressing close to hear. "None but your vaunted good word. Lord Peverel holds your household guard. If you betray his man he will send you a piece of each prisoner he has. So tender a master as you are reputed to be would not sacrifice your men and your honor for one stroke which could gain you nothing."

  "Tell your master that I will come and be as tender of his emissary as if he were my own flesh and blood. But he can gain nothing by talk. He would do better to send out my wife and my men at once. I will make no peace for lesser terms."

  Hereford turned away, rubbing his unshaven chin. Everything that had happened in the past three days had the quality of his constantly recurring nightmare, even though the events that had taken place and those he dreamed were not related. There was the same sense of pursuing an unknown goal in the midst of events that were totally inexplicable and beyond his control. Once again he felt like a stuffed puppet performing antics directed by someone else's will.

  "If you go, Roger, I go too." That was Lord Radnor, for once breaking impatiently into Hereford's thoughts.

  "I also."

  "No," Hereford replied slowly. "One of you at least must remain behind to lead the men in the small chance that Peverel does intend treachery. I ask you, Walter, to take that duty. You are my heir. Miles is too young to avenge us. Peverel could look for no greater temptation than that you and I should come under his hand together."

  Walter burst out laughing. "You are a fool, Roger. How do you know this is not set between Peverel and myself? The temptation you offer me is greater than that you offer him. You are giving the earldom of Hereford into my hand."

  "If you want it on those terms, Walter, you are welcome to it. Much joy may you have of gain so gotten." Hereford dismissed that comment without a thought. "Radnor, you should have more sense. Why stretch your neck for the ax blow when there is no need?"