A Knight’s Enchantment (24 page)

I am a lovesick fool,
Joanna thought as she crouched behind the pallet.
Is that the wittiest thing I could say, after we have been apart so long?

Hugh rushed out onto the landing like a dark storm cloud, the alaunts flashing round him like bolts of lightning. After a few moments he returned, plucking the flask containing the
aqua fortis
from the floor.

“Hurry!” he said, throwing a second sword to David.

Joanna rose and sped to the door. She must make an effort. “I would have a blade, too,” she said, running round in front of him like one of the dogs. David slipped past to scour the stairs: she would not speak to him.

Hugh stared down at her from his huge, extended height, strapping as an oak tree and twice as dark in his rich borrowed clothes, only his keen, bright eyes showing behind his rough “turban.” Again, her heart raced at the sight: he looked so mysterious, so full of vigor and pith. She wanted to fling her arms about him and have him carry her off, as in those stories she had heard of Saladin.

Tales she had heard from David.

That woke her from her daydream as nothing else could have done. She seized Hugh’s wrist and shook it. “Give me a blade.”

“Take this instead.” He thrust the flask at her, dragged the cloth away from his lips, and before she knew what he was about, dragged his “turban” off his head and smacked a kiss on her mouth. “Haste, wretch, we have scant time.”

Her father—where was he? Joanna scanned the chamber and then heard the unbelievable: Solomon padding upstairs.

“He wants some stuff. I told him to go.” Hugh grabbed her arm and scooped her along, half dragging her over the floor.

“Are you mad? He will be there for an age, choosing, selecting…”

“I told him to take no longer than he can run a hundred paces.”

“Have you seen my father run?”

Hugh laughed—by good nature, she had missed his hearty laugh!—and smacked her lightly on her rump. “Off with you.”

She was not supposed to be speeding onto the landing with her loins tingling, thinking of lovemaking. As her eyes grew accustomed to the shadowy tower and the narrow stair, she knew this was the moment. If they were spotted now, it would go hard for them. The bishop had not yet been missed, but he must be soon, and though David now wore the chain mail of one guard, there was no disguising Hugh.

“I go first,” Hugh said again. “Then you, David, then you, Joanna. Solomon—” He broke off and bawled up the stairs, “Solomon! Come now!”

“That will bring the guards, little brother,” said David, ever joyful these days.

“They will be busy enough, soon,” replied Hugh, and he set off for the stairs, hurling the stool down first and saying to the dogs, “Fly, lads, go down, go on!”

Barking a frenzy, the great white hounds barged forward to do his bidding and in a swirl of teeth and tails careered down the steps. Joanna, gripping the flask, desperate not to drop it or shake it too violently, found herself half tumbling down the narrow stair, striking her shoulders against the wall and central pillar. Conscious of her father coming down slowly behind her, one step at a time, she found herself pressed at one point against David as he stopped suddenly on the stairs.

“Get on!” she hissed, disliking having to touch him.

“Do not order me.”

“Peace, both of you,” called Hugh. “Solomon, are you with us yet?”

“I have quite caught up,” replied her father, as serene as if he was strolling by the river.

“A wonder this, but no one in the bailey has yet noticed,” Hugh whispered back up the stairs.

“The folk here are used to screams from the donjon,” Solomon remarked.

Joanna shivered, thinking again of the oubliette. She studied the flask in her hand: was there enough?

“Our luck may yet hold and we come through sweetly. Maybe we simply walk through the gate. No grief to me to fight, but I’d rather go easy.”

“There is a small postern on the eastern side of the bailey,” Joanna reminded him, feeling her face glow as Hugh said, “Good, good!”

“Can you two not keep silent till we are through this?” grumbled David. He squawked as Joanna moved past him, elbowing him in the ribs.

“What are you about?” Hugh barred her progress with an arm.

“The trapdoor. If I can break the lock there, those poor creatures may have a chance, too.”

She expected Hugh to object but he was already shifting the heavy weights on top of the door. “You pour and I’ll pull,” he said. “Just be sure you have sufficient left for those outside cages. It will make a fine distraction if those prisoners break loose.”

Joanna nodded. “We are of the same thought, Hugo.”

“Hugo! God in heaven!” David sneered, but he subsided when Hugh glared at him.

“You can work, too, brother. Watch by the outer door.”

David stepped across the trapdoor to do as he was bid, muttering to Joanna as he strode by, “You will not last.”

His spite, though startling, did not touch her. Speed, she knew, was vital: she had no moments to waste on the Templar’s change of heart toward her.

Calling out a warning, she poured more of the “strong water” onto the trapdoor lock, ducking her head out of the way of the stifling, acrid fumes. It was best not to think about those trapped in the oubliette, what it would be like to have that scalding, choking liquid cast about head and face….

Hugh was laboring, too, dragging at the huge iron ring on top of the trapdoor, cursing as he struggled. “Solomon, get a ladder! There will be one somewhere close!” he bawled at one point, gulping in a massive breath and straining again, wrestling with the ring as if it was alive.

“Keep back!” he warned as Joanna tried to also seize the ring. The whole door shivered like a dog shaking itself and came free. It groaned open, Hugh red-faced and sweating as he hauled on a door designed to be lifted by two men, and then swung back onto its hinges as he jammed it open with the stool.

He took the short ladder Solomon had found in the debris of tools and fetters by the door and slid it down into the dark. Dropping his water flask into the hole, he called down, “You are free, come out!” and shooed the dogs back.

Joanna tried to see into the tar-black chamber, coughing on the acid fumes and the fouler, older stench of human filth and ordure. Hugh caught her round the waist and lifted her, wriggling, away from the open trapdoor.

“They have their chance.”

“But they may be fettered!”

“A guard,” David said, and they froze, Joanna then gathering her wits and singing a chorus of “King John went a-hunting,” as if she had no cares in the world.

“Gone off to the kitchen,” David reported, and they all sagged a little, in relief.

Hugh clasped Joanna by the shoulders. “We must leave now, sweeting,” he said gently. “Let us free the prisoners in the yard and get out while we may. My men are waiting for us in the city with horses. They will be here by now.”

This was the plan as they had agreed and all she need do was walk out of the donjon to the cages and stop as if to stare at the prisoners while she broke the locks. She picked up the flask again but Hugh took it from her. “I will do that. I will not have you taken hostage again. Go to the eastern postern and wait for me there.”

What he said made sense, but it was hard to leave the tower and leave behind the open, gaping oubliette. As she looked back a final time before slipping through the outer door, Hugh murmured, “Some things we cannot know. Trust to God, girl, and leave it to him.”

Even his provoking use of “girl” could not shift her sense of shame, but at least it made her move. She took one of her father’s rough bundles and slung it over her shoulder, picking up her skirts and preparing to run.

Hugh strode into the yard, dogs trailing him, ears pricked for his orders. Strolling like a prince in his kingdom, he made for the cage closest to the main gate. Two monks, carrying a chest between them, paused on their way to a cart in order to let him pass. A guard hailed him and Hugh waved in return but kept on walking. In a moment of inspiration, he took the sword and ran it along the bars of the cage, hearing the guard who had previously stepped over to the kitchen laugh and call out, “Good jest!”

Few of these men know each other,
he thought, but that did not surprise him. Bishop Thomas commanded by fear: there would be little loyalty at the palace and much changing of guards, many new faces amidst those who through age or family ties must stay on here.

Yet even guards as slack as these would eventually wonder where their lord was, so he must hurry. He poured the rest of the flask over the lock. A hand grabbed at him. He grabbed back and smashed it to the bars.

“I am helping, friend, so do not interrupt.” A whimper told him he had been understood.

He turned, leaving the cage smoking gently, a yellow vapor issuing from its lock, and paid no heed to the gasps and curses from the prisoners.

“Go, lads!” he encouraged the dogs, and the great hounds, gladdened by his voice and sweeping finger, shot off in the direction he pointed to and crashed into the approaching guards.

“Hey!”

“Down! Down, I say!”

“You, soldier! Wait!”

He ignored the turmoil and the command and turned his back. Listening to his heart, hearing his boots striking the cobbles like a ram at a castle wall, he stalked to the postern gate. A swirl of midden and cooking smells hit him, then another whiff of acid. Surely the lock must soon break on the cage? He walked on.

There were no archers but his shoulders pricked as he lengthened his stride, striving not to break into a run. A running man attracts attention, and so far these guards were bewildered. They had not marked that their bishop was missing, nor that his prize hostage of months was out in the bailey.

Doing what? What exactly was David about? He could see Joanna moving in the shadows like the clever wench she was, carrying a bag over her shoulder as she guided her father smoothly to the postern. David was standing by one of the abbey carts, looking up at the cloudless blue sky as if the arch of heaven was new-made for him.

“Give a Templar a nail and he will try to use it as an astrolabe,” Hugh muttered. Exasperated, he moved out of the palace wall shadow to recover his errant relative for the second time.

“David.” He had reached the cart.

“I had forgotten how blue.” David lowered his head and looked at him, his wide eyes puzzled. “Are you sure we should leave?”

Are you gone mad?
Six months ago, Hugh would have said it, but being with Joanna had taught him to consider words. He took David’s arm. “We have only a little way to go now. Joanna and Solomon are there already.”

They were, too. Joanna was speaking to the postern guard, pointing to the distant glitter of the river, and did not seem to be making much headway. The guard was shaking his head and motioning her back.

“Come,” he said to David, wanting to be with Joanna. He had other, quicker methods of persuasion.

David rubbed at his eyes and yawned. “I am for my bed at this time; a sleep before midday. She will leave you, once she is free of here. Why should she stay with you? No other woman has.”

“That is in God’s arms, now go.” Hugh gave his brother a mighty shove, possibly harder than was needed, but he had no stomach for their father’s old complaints. “Move or I cut you,” he growled, and that threat stirred David into a lumbering run.

Finally
—

And behind him, now, at last, he heard a sudden crash as the lock on the first cage shattered. Twisting round, he saw ragged prisoners pouring into the yard. Some made for the main gate, others were struggling with the monks to seize goods off the carts, a few made straight for the guards, swearing vengeance.

“Stop them!” shouted a new voice. “No, you fools!
Them!
Hold them!”

It was the fat steward. He had appeared by the postern, returning to the palace from the town, and was now blocking the narrow gate. Even as Hugh sprinted for the fellow, barging through knots of straggling, blinking men, the steward snatched a bow from the postern guard and notched an arrow.

He is aiming at Joanna!

Hugh plucked a book from one of the carts and threw it. “Not her!” he roared, charging for the man.

The heavy volume struck the steward in the middle of the chest. He tottered, but did not release the bow.

“No!” Joanna dropped her sack and launched herself at him.

“Stop!” Hugh’s desperate warning came too late. The world about him seemed to slow down, turn to dust and stone, as he strained and strained to reach the enemy first, as he dropped the sword to avoid striking Joanna, as he reached, arms outstretched, to seize the man’s throat.

The steward was yelling something he could not hear, his mouth jerking into an ugly scowl, and then he fell like a cast stone slingshot. He hit the postern cobbles and sprawled in the gateway, silent and still. The guard had already chosen his path and was gone.

“I hit him with this,” Solomon remarked, staring down at the unconscious steward with an expression of mingled delight and dread. He looked to Hugh like a small boy caught eating an apple in an orchard. “When I saw you throw the book, it gave me an idea.” He shook the sack. “I hit him with these,” he said. “Pestle and mortar and a crucible. Did I do right?”

“You dropped this,” said a voice behind them. Hugh turned to find David with the sword. He looked less abstracted than he had earlier, and seemed to have more sense, which was a start. “What?” he asked now, glancing round as one of the monastery carts crackled into flames. A group of prisoners was dancing round the blazing cart, buffeting the monks aside.

“Keep that for the moment and keep moving.” Hugh picked up the sack in one hand and plucked Joanna off her feet with the other. Ignoring her protests—“I can walk as well as you!”—he stepped over the sleeping steward and walked out of the palace into the town.

“Let me go!” Joanna tried to nip at his ear with her teeth. He tightened his grip about her middle until she gasped. “Unfair!”

“Yield, then, wife. Wife-to-be,” he amended. In the victory of the moment, delighted to have Joanna snug in his arms again and determined to keep her there, he turned to Solomon. “If that is acceptable, sir?”

This was not how he had planned to ask, but the question thundered out of his mouth with the force of a warhorse charge. He could not stop it and now he could only wait with stopped breath and sweating palms for the answer.

Say yes, say yes, say yes….

“You have my blessing,” Solomon said at once.

Thanks be to God and all the saints of Christendom!
Hugh kissed Joanna lightly on her round, astonished “O” of a mouth, swung her higher into his arms, and kept on walking.