Sir Walter had been installed in a small chamber within the thickness of the tower wall on the second landing. As they approached, the leathern curtain that served as a door was thrust aside and a tall, elderly man stepped outside to greet them. Gisela was instantly relieved at sight of him. She liked his grave, dignified bearing and air of quiet confidence. She saw that he was a Jew by his dark gaberdine robe.
He bowed in Eastern fashion, his fingers brushing his heart and forehead.
“The wound is deep, demoiselle, and has cut into thigh muscle. I can detect no broken bone. The blood loss has been considerable but is now checked. I am most concerned about the head wound, which might have come about as he fell or was administered in the struggle with his antagonist, possibly by a sword hilt. He comes in and out of consciousness so I do not fear too much for his eventual recovery, but he must be kept very quiet.
“I have administered a mild dose of poppy juice so he will not continue to be restless in the night and I will watch by him later when I have tended the rest of your wounded.”
“I would like to stay with him…”
“I do not think that sensible, demoiselle. You are very shocked, naturally, by the events of the day and have taken some slight injuries yourself. You need your rest and I venture to say I can gauge your father’s condition more efficiently. I have experience of this type of injury.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “May I see him, master physician?”
“Of course, demoiselle, but I beg you not to wake him.”
Her father appeared somewhat diminished in the small cot thrust close to the wall. His face seemed drained of all colour, but the steady rising and falling of his chest told her he was resting comfortably. She bent and kissed him very carefully upon the forehead, then did as the physician had asked and left him to the care of one who was more knowledgeable about such battle injuries than she was.
As they mounted the spiral chair to her chamber on the third landing, Lord Alain informed her of the man’s credentials.
“Joshua ben Suleiman trained at Salerno and is capable and totally dedicated to his art. He has been with me some years and has treated me on several occasions after battle. You can leave your father to his care in total confidence.”
She nodded tremulously.
“I—I have to thank you once again, Lord Alain, for your immediate response to our need—and—and for your rescue of me. I—I haven’t even asked if you were hurt further in that encounter…”
“Just a few scratches,” he said smiling. “I see you have some marks of battle upon you. Joshua has sent up a pot of salve for your attendant to deal with your minor wounds. Should she feel that you need his care, she should send down at once and summon him. He has also provided you with a mild poppy drink for I think you will find it hard to rest tonight although I am sure you are exhausted.”
At the entrance to her chamber he bent and, turning her palms upwards, kissed them gently in farewell, then turned and ran lightly down the stair towards the hall.
Inside the small chamber, constructed as her father’s had been within the defensive thickness of the tower wall, Aldith had already turned down the fur pelt that served as a coverlet. A warmed brick had been brought up for Gisela’s added comfort.
Gisela sank thankfully down on the bed.
“My father is in good hands,” she said tiredly as she reached up to remove her ruined head veil and fillet. “The physician seems confident that he will recover and I trust in the man’s abilities.”
Aldith’s truckle had been pushed close to her own and Gisela noted it thankfully, for she could not have borne to be alone tonight. Indeed, she wondered if she would ever feel entirely safe again.
She started as there came a male voice from outside the enclosing leather curtain.
“It is I, Huon, Demoiselle Gisela. The Baron sent me to assure himself of your complete satisfaction with your chamber and that everything had been done for your comfort.”
“Thank you,” Gisela said. “Tell him all is well.”
Aldith thrust aside the curtain and the boy was revealed clutching tightly to a small, round rush basket from which came the sound of frantic scratching and whimpering. He looked down at it defensively.
“Lord Alain saw how you admired him and thought this gift might comfort you, demoiselle, but if he is troublesome or you too weary to cope with him I will take him away again.”
Gisela reached mutely for the basket, her lips parting, in spite of herself, in a little delighted smile. Within sat the hound puppy she had tried to rescue in the castle courtyard. Great round eyes regarded her solemnly and a small pink tongue lolled happily at sight of her. She took the basket from Huon and, placing it down on the bed, lifted him out and nuzzled her nose against his velvety brown head.
“Tell your master I am very touched by his gift,” she said brokenly, “and I will certainly keep him with me tonight.”
The boy sighed his relief and moved to the doorway again.
“Thinking that you might be glad of someone you know well to guard your chamber tonight, Lord Alain has made provision for that, too.”
He made her a courteous bow and withdrew.
Gisela stepped out of her chamber, still clutching the squirming pup as a shambling figure rose from a crouched position on the landing and gave her a respectful salute. She gave the second glad cry of that terrible day.
“Aldith, come and look. It is Sigurd, released from his prison,” she said.
Chapter Four
Pale light was streaming into the chamber when Gisela woke. For the moment she lay bemused, unable to recall why she was not in her own chamber at Brinkhurst. Then realisation came and she sat up with a little sob and gazed wildly round for Aldith. She was alone, so obviously her maid had gone down to the hall to ask for warm water to be brought.
As she pushed back the coverlet to stand up, Gisela heard a sharp yelp from somewhere near the window and turned to see her newest acquisition, the hound pup, straining to reach her from his tether, a long piece of rope Aldith had secured to the soft leather collar he wore and had tied to the strong iron hasp on a chest beneath the unshuttered lancet window. Obviously this had been to prevent him from dashing after her down the stair.
Gisela untied him and returned with him to the bed where she sat nursing and kissing him. He returned her show of affection with wags of his tail and continued efforts to lick her face.
The terrible grief that had assailed her when realisation had struck was somewhat relieved by the love she was able to lavish upon this small creature. She wept and kissed him and was still doing both when Aldith pushed aside the leather curtain in the doorway and entered with a ewer of hot water and towels.
She said, frowning in mock annoyance, “You will spoil that dog outrageously if you go on like that.”
Gisela pushed back the heavy waves of her hair and blinked back tears.
“Aldith, I’m sorry, crying doesn’t help. It all came upon me suddenly when I saw I wasn’t at Brinkhurst. As for this little chap, don’t be hard on him. He’s still just a baby and probably missing his mother. Have you heard any news of Father?”
“Not yet. The seneschal tells me the Jewish physician is in attendance and you can see him later.”
“You don’t know then if he has regained consciousness?”
Aldith shook her head. “Try not to worry. He will sleep late after the drug they gave him, doubtless.”
As Gisela made to stand up again, the puppy renewed his attentions and Aldith quelled him with a little slap and fastened him again to the chest hasp.
“You little devil dog, stay there. I woke up to find him chewing one of your shoes. I will find some milk for you soon and later, Sigurd will go in search of some meat for you and, perhaps, take you for a walk in the bailey.”
Gisela washed and dressed hurriedly. She was impatient now to go to her father. “Have you seen Lord Alain this morning?”
Again Aldith shook her
head. “I’m told he has gone over to Brinkhurst to look over the damage and to order craftsmen to come over from Oakham.”
Gisela frowned. “I need to do that. He takes too much on himself.”
Aldith looked at her sharply. “There’s gratitude. The man takes upon himself your problems when, I imagine, he has plenty of his own and you find fault with him.”
“Don’t speak to me as if I were still a child,” Gisela snapped, then regretted her burst of temper immediately and reached out for Aldith’s work-worn hand. “I’m sorry. That was unforgivable. I know you have only my welfare at heart, Aldith, but…”
“But you still resent the attentions of your suitor,” Aldith said pointedly. “What would have happened had he not come to your rescue, I dread to think.”
“I know that,” Gisela said defensively, “and I am very grateful to him for that and for the care of my father but—he is too arrogant. He assumes we shall instantly follow his advice and all this without consulting us.”
“Your father is in no state yet to be consulted upon anything,” Aldith said, “and I do not think you are either—yet.”
Gisela fastened her girdle. She was thankful that Aldith had brought changes of clothes from Brinkhurst, for the gown she had worn last night was beyond repair. Just to look at it made her shudder at the remembrance of how close she had been to ravishment and death. And she had Alain de Treville to thank for her salvation!
She was ashamed of her previous pettish outburst. She avoided Aldith’s eye. She knew her resentment was due, not to the Baron’s officiousness, but to the fear that was haunting her mind. Her one hope of escape from a forced marriage with this man had lain in Kenrick—and Kenrick was lying cold and stark upon a bier in the hall at Arcote.
She descended the spiral stair with Aldith and went to break her fast in the hall, where a trestle had been laid for her near the hearth despite the late hour of the morning. Sigurd stood waiting to serve them and Gisela managed to give him a wan smile.
“You have not been harmed in your prison, Sigurd?”
He shook his head. “No, mistress. They kept me shut up but they fed me. The Baron sent word last night I could be released to tend you and my mother so long as I gave my sworn word I would not try to escape.”
“And you gave it?”
His young mouth turned down at the corners. “He is my liege lord. I had no choice and—and I wanted to come to your help, mistress.”
“Then see that you keep your word, for I shall feel responsible should you break it.”
He poured ale for her and she began to toy with a piece of fine white manchet bread as Aldith pushed the honey pot to her.
“Sigurd, you must accept your new status with as much good grace as possible. You know you have been treated leniently.”
“He’s been told that,” Aldith snapped. “I want to hear no more of his complaining. We all have to make the best of our lives that we can. How would he have fared if I had given up after Rolf died?”
Gisela lowered her head. She felt that Aldith was censoring her too in this dour statement. Aldith believed that Gisela should accept her fate with good grace, obey her father and marry Baron Alain de Treville. No one, she thought furiously, will understand just how I am grieving for Kenrick, not only because he is lost to me but because I know I brought about his death.
I must go and pay my respects to Kenrick’s mother, she decided, just as soon as I have seen my own father and assured myself that he is no worse and receiving every care.
Walter of Brinkhurst was awake and, to her relief, fully cognisant of all that had happened, when she was allowed to see him about an hour later. He still looked bloodless and was obviously exhausted, propped up on pillows, when she sank to her knees by the bedside to kiss his hand.
He bent to stroke her veiled head. “You were not harmed, my child?” His question was sharp, his meaning only too clear. “I hear you arrived in the middle of all that destruction.”
“No, Father. Baron Alain de Treville arrived by good fortune and rescued me from one of the routiers who—who—” She averted her head. “He killed the man after—after the man had killed Kenrick.”
“Aye, I have been told that.” Sir Walter compressed his lips. “He was a fine, honourable young man—we shall all miss him about the shire. I understand his reeve arrived to convey his body to Arcote.”
“Yes, Lord Alain took charge of all that and has arranged for the burial of our people.”
Sir Walter nodded. “De Treville is a capable man. We are fortunate to count him as a friend.” He glanced down deliberately at Gisela and she bit her lip. He meant more than a friend and his expression had told her that. She was determined that he should not press the matter of a betrothal further. She had no wish to distress him in his weakened state.
She rose to her feet. “The doctor tells me you are doing well, Father, but should rest a great deal over the next few days. I shall come and see you again soon. In the meantime, I shall see to it that all that is necessary is done at Brinkhurst so we might return there as soon as possible.”
Her father grunted. “I understand there is no sign of Oswin. He was not numbered amongst the dead so must have run off to safety—not that I blame him. De Treville informs me that the roof at Brinkhurst is so badly damaged that it will be weeks before we can go back, especially as the weather worsens. He offers us his hospitality here at Allestone for as long as is needful.”
Which situation will suit him very well, Gisela fumed inwardly, but dared not express her irritation to her father. She kissed him hastily and withdrew.
Gisela found Sigurd in the hall and asked him to take her to the stables. She wished to know if her palfrey had been brought from Brinkhurst since she had every intention of riding over to Arcote to see Lady Eadgyth.
As they were about to cross the bailey, their progress was checked by a company of Allestone men-at-arms coming through the gatehouse arch. Gisela saw Baron Alain de Treville was at their head.
Sigurd slunk back behind her and she waited a little nervously as Lord Alain dismounted and began to come towards her. To her horror, she saw that the last man to ride in was tugging a prisoner who, like Sigurd had been on that dreadful day of the attack on his lord, was secured by a rope to his captor’s saddle.
Lord Alain reached Gisela’s side and bowed.
“I trust you slept adequately and were comfortable. I could not hope that you slept soundly after all that happened, but I hope to make your stay here as pleasant as possible.”
“Thank you, everything has been done for my own and my father’s pleasure.”
She shielded her eyes against the low wintry sun to peer at the prisoner who was being taken in charge by the sergeant, struggling and making hoarse, pleading cries. The Baron followed her gaze and shrugged somewhat regretfully.
“I am sorry you should have seen that.”
“I’m sure you are,” she retorted hotly. “You appear to make a habit of brutality towards your people, my lord. What has the man done that he should be treated so?”
Again Lord Alain followed her gaze, his own expression unmoved by her protest.
“He has committed the unforgivable sin, demoiselle. He has disobeyed my direct orders, issued to all my men this very morning.”
“I see.” Her own expression revealed her distaste for his severity.
He smiled grimly. “To be explicit, he was caught in the act of looting property at Brinkhurst. I will not have my men behaving like the routiers who caused the damage in the first place.”
She made a little sound of distress and he nodded, then, pushing his hand into the embroidered opening of his tunic, he withdrew a small reliquary hanging from a heavy gold chain. “I think this may be yours.”
She took it from him, touching it reverently, her eyes blurring with sudden tears.
“Yes, it was my mother’s. I was wearing it when—when I was attacked. It must have come loose in the struggle.” She swallowed hard. She s
till could not think of that dreadful fight without breaking into a cold sweat of terror.
“Just so.”
She turned again to watch as the struggling prisoner was led away.
“What do you intend to do with him?”
“Why, hang him, of course.”
“Oh, no, you cannot.”
His eyebrows rose eloquently. “Demoiselle Gisela, I cannot for ever be giving way to your misguided pleas for those who offend against my laws. This must serve as an example to my men.” He did not add that it was by no means an easy task to hold in check a company of armed men whose general taste ran to acquiring the spoils of war whenever possible.
She said huskily, “I understand, my lord, but—but since this was my property and—and no one was hurt…”
“Do you think these men of mine possess any more principles than those who attacked your manor yesterday? They are bred to fight, live hard lives and expect to profit from victories. They are disciplined only by the strength of will and power of the man who leads them. Believe me, I know. I have experienced more aftermaths of battle than you can imagine.
“My men will expect me to punish the man. If I show weakness, they will not respect my orders in the future—and you will be no more safe with them than with any other masterless men.”
She swallowed and turned from him, fighting for control. She knew in her heart that he was speaking plain common sense and that her father would have agreed with him, yet she could not resist one final plea.
“This is not war, my lord…”
“It is worse than war, it is pillage,” he interrupted coldly. “This giving way to unbridled greed leads on to more serious crimes—like rape.”
Colour flooded her cheeks and her lips parted slightly in remembered distress.
“However—” he shrugged again in that Gallic fashion she was beginning to know “—since it is your trinket and you plead for him so eloquently, I will forgo hanging him.”
“Then what will you do with him?” she enquired diffidently. She knew she was unwise to press him further and yet needed to know for her own peace of mind. If the man were to be maimed, he could die a more lingering death and that would be her fault.
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