SirenSong (45 page)

She came up to him and drew his head down to kiss him. “Do
you think I could love you if I did not know that without telling?” Alys sighed
as she broke away. “Let me get cross garters for you, beloved. You cannot go—”
her voice quivered and she paused and then went on steadily, “with your
chausses in folds around your ankles. God knows the king will be ill pleased
enough to hear—no! He must not hear!”

Alys had been trying to make a jest about her reputation as
a housewife being damaged by Raymond appearing like a scarecrow, but she
suddenly realized that, if Raymond told Henry he wanted to marry her, Henry
would certainly do nothing to help them. Likely the king would far rather see
all of them dead and buried than have his nephew make so unequal a marriage.

“What?” Raymond asked. “Not hear what? I must tell—”

“Tell what tale you like, except about me. Do not mention me
or your wish to marry me. Pretend I do not exist, that my father has no
daughter.”

“Why?” Raymond asked, his face crimsoning. “Do not tell me
that King Henry was the man who desired you. I cannot—”

“No, no!” Alys cried, appalled. “I swear the king has never
set eyes upon me or, if he has, did not care to ask who I was.”

“Then why? I am not ashamed of you! And it is none of
Henry’s business whom I marry! And I do not care what anyone—”

He received another kiss in thanks for his passion but also
because it was the most effective way to stop his mouth. “No,” Alys agreed,
realizing it would be useless and dangerous to explain the true reasons for
what she had said. “But remember that Papa has not yet agreed. To tell the king
the matter is settled, to use it, perhaps to hasten Henry’s decision, might
seem a device to force Papa’s hand. Papa will not like that. There is something
else too. The king and queen could not know you would be so idiotic as to fall
in love in a poor knight’s household, yet they will be bitterly blamed for what
is no fault of theirs by your father and mother.”

“It was not idiotic,” Raymond growled. “There is nothing
idiotic in falling in love with the most wonderful woman in the world.”

Alys took his face between her hands. “Love speaks. Others
might not think I am so wonderful. In any case, before they know me your
parents must think the worst of me if they hear of your intentions from the
king or queen. Please, Raymond, do not mention me. When we are safe and Papa
has made terms with you will be soon enough to tell the world.”

“You are right. My aunt would write to my mother as fast as
she could seize a quill and set it to parchment—and it would not matter whether
she praised you or cursed you. That Eleanor rather than I should write such
news would certainly throw my mama into a despair and that would set my father
against me. Oh, you are right, my love. I will have enough to do without taking
time to write long letters of explanation. I will hold my tongue.”

His arms went out and she came into them, raising her face
for his kiss. After a moment she pulled away and hurried into her father’s
bedchamber. There had been the taste of salt tears mingled with the sweetness
of her mouth. He was thrilled that Alys would cry over his departure when she
had not wept over her father’s, but he dreaded an emotional storm. Before he
could decide whether to follow her to comfort her, she was out again, carrying
a pair of cross garters and seeming perfectly calm except for her pallor.

“Pull up those chausses,” she said.

Automatically, Raymond did as he was told and Alys tied the
garters, rising when she was finished to show him dry eyes and a smile—a little
fixed and meaningless, but a smile. She tied his tunic, settled his mail hood
into more comfortable folds, and melted into his arms one last time.

“You need not fear for me,” he murmured. “I would be worth
more to Sir Mauger alive than dead.”

When he had explained, Alys’s smile was more real, although
she knew if the boat was seen and overturned Raymond would never have a chance
to be taken prisoner. He must be armed, yet armed he would sink like a stone. A
discreet cough in the doorway made her stand away from Raymond, but she still
held his hand.

“You need not fear for me either,” she assured him. “No man
will have me but you. Aubery would not take me against my will—we are too good
friends for that. And if Mauger thinks he can kill Elizabeth and have me
himself—well, a man comes naked to his wedding bed and even a little eating
knife stuck in the neck—just there,“ she touched Raymond’s throat, “will kill.”

Raymond loved Alys, but he really did not know her very
well. He smiled fondly at her ferocity. He could afford to smile because he was
sure he would get to the king, convince him, and get back in time to save
Marlowe. He was young.

In the doorway, Martin drew in his breath sharply. He also
loved Alys, but he knew her very well. He did not doubt for a minute that, if
necessary, she would put on a face of such submission and sweetness that a man
would come naked to her—and she would kill. He leaned against the door frame to
still his trembling. He was old. He did not believe Raymond could convince the
king and return in time to stop Mauger. Alys, the child of his heart, who had
kissed his ugliness even when she was a baby and had nursed him as gently as a
daughter in his sickness, would be damned for the mortal sin of murder.

“The dock is clear,” Martin said. “The boat and all other
things are ready.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

William looked out at the scurrying activity in Mauger’s
camp through the thin mist of early morning. After two days of watching, he
knew Mauger had fewer men than he had feared, but more than he had hoped.
Thinking back on Mauger’s deficiencies as a leader in Wales, William had
determined to try to hold the walls. Mauger’s men might be no better than his.
The frantic and sometimes seemingly aimless way they buzzed about the camp
certainly indicated poor leadership. William glanced right and left along the
walls. What he saw gave him little comfort. The materials for resistance were
ready, but the men…

They were not fools or cowards, not most of them, but they
knew nothing. If Harold were alive and Sir Peter, and Raymond had been there as
well, there would have been little danger that Marlowe would fall despite the
fact that they were few and inexperienced. With someone to tell them what to do
and give them heart and example, most would fight bravely. But there was no one
except himself and Diccon, and no one man could be at all places at all times.
Even if he had been completely well…

That was no way to think, William told himself. He was
better, much better. Again he swept the wall with his eyes. The veterans,
widely spaced out except for a few to guard special danger points, would help,
but he still had not quite decided whether he should be at the point of
greatest weakness or the place which, if taken, would lead to the greatest
danger.

Here by the tower that controlled the drawbridge and
portcullis? There was no need to fear the use of a ram. Mauger would need to
fill the moat to use a ram and he was in too much of a hurry for that. Mauger
would want to take the tower, of course, because that would make it easy to
bring in his whole force with little loss and cut off the defenders’ retreat to
the keep. William could see several of the curved supports that would bridge
the moat and hold the scaling ladders just across from where he stood. There
were more ways than one to take the tower, however. Put enough men on the wall
at any place and the defenders could be swamped. They were so few.

The weakest spot was where the moat ended. To the east,
there was a huge outcropping of solid rock, the heart of the rise on which
Marlowe stood. William could not see it with his eyes, but it was perfectly
clear in his mind. Because it would have taken many years to break through that
deep enough to continue the moat, William’s father had compromised with a
trench a mere ten feet deep. It had some water in it, perhaps enough to deceive
a stranger, but Mauger knew Marlowe well. Although there was no sign that he
intended to concentrate his attack at that point, William was sure that was a
pretense. Should he be there instead of at the tower?

The one and only bright spot in a dark future was that
William was reasonably sure Raymond had made good his escape. In the morning
after the young knight had gone, William had called the men together and told
them that help was on its way. They had only to hold out for a few days. He was
not nearly as sure as he sounded, but it was necessary to provide some hope or
even the experienced men-at-arms would begin to think about yielding rather
than facing a certain defeat and probable death.

Suddenly William stiffened to full alert. The men in the
camp had stopped their scurrying about and were gathering efficiently into
groups. Calls came from around the walls warning that the form of activity of
the enemy had changed all over the field. William watched for a second or two
longer, hardly believing his eyes. Apparently Mauger was going to start the
attack at once. William had thought it would take at least a day or two more to
be ready. Cursing himself for a fool, he turned and bellowed for all to arm and
take their places. From below, Diccon’s voice repeated the order and the quiet
bailey erupted into frenetic activity. Mauger was cleverer than he seemed,
William thought bitterly, not knowing that the mercenary captains had done most
of the planning. All that scurrying about had been a pretense to make it seem
the attack was not ready. Behind that screen of activity the bulk of the men
were arming and positioning.

Archers were already at the edge of the moat, kneeling to
aim. A cloud of arrows rose. William half lifted his shield, but most fell
short. The new men flinched and dodged, watching the sky instead of
concentrating on the ladders being raised. Worst of all, the arrows flew only
one way. It was a bitter thing to watch helplessly, knowing that archers on the
walls could do ten times the damage. An arrow shot downward gained force. Had
William had a hundred archers, it might have been impossible for Mauger’s men
to raise the scaling ladders at all. A hundred? He did not have twenty who
could use a bow with effect. Those he had taken to Wales, and most had died
there. The few archers he had were at work. Here and there around the walls a
single arrow flew forth. One could hardly see them against the cloud coming in.

One man carrying the device to span the moat cried out and
clapped a hand to his shoulder. Another took his place so swiftly that the
heavy structure did not even tilt. The other men called jeers and insults. One
lousy arrow could not frighten them. William ground his teeth, watching the
attack move forward and knowing himself powerless to impede it. His own men
were pelting up the stairs to the walls now. His head swung back and forth, now
watching the moat spanners being moved into place, now checking on the
defenders racing up from the bailey.

Diccon was still below. William could hear him roaring at
the less agile—or more reluctant—to hurry. Then the servingmen began to pour
out of the forebuilding and the sheds. They had knives and leather
jerkins—those who had any form of armor or weapons at all—but they could push
ladders, throw stones, help tip the cauldron of hot oil near the tower over
onto those who were climbing the wall.

William flinched as an arrow struck his shoulder, but it did
not bite through his mail. That was a piece of luck. The men who had taken up
position nearest him took heart from the incident and looked out at the
attackers rather than up above. There was now more noise outside the walls than
inside them. Some spans were set and the men cheered and shouted to each other
as ladders were maneuvered across and fastened to them to provide a path so
that other ladders could be raised against the walls. William drew his sword.

The quiet around him was ominous. He had defended keeps
before. Some men were always quiet before fighting, but most yelled and cursed
at the attackers, either in real contempt or to keep up their spirits. There
was not, William feared, enough spirit in these poor creatures gleaned from the
town and the fields and hardly trained, to raise by any normal means. Well, at
least he had not overlooked that problem.

A ladder was wavering upward some fifty feet away on the
opposite side of the tower. The men near it stood still, as if mesmerized.
William ran through the door on his side, crossed the tower, came out on the
other wall bellowing obscenities and instructions. Roused by his voice, the
defenders sprang into action. Two seized long poles with which they hoped to
catch the ladder and overturn it. Three others converged on the area, drawing
their weapons. One, with a terrified look behind him, ran for the wooden stairs
that went down into the bailey. William’s sword point caught him in the belly.

“One more step and you die long and hard. I swear to you,
you have a better chance if you fight.”

The man whimpered, then drew his own weapon and turned back
seemingly now ready to fight. William let out his breath slowly, not daring to
sigh lest someone notice and a new panic ensue.

“Watch that ladder!” William roared.

The men had thrust it away once, but it was rising again.
William’s order, however, was drowned in a series of crashes as all the wooden
stairs were pulled sharply to the ground except the one running down the end of
the wall that joined the southwest tower of the keep. There was a chorus of
oaths and gasps of fear, but William smiled. No live man would come off the
walls of Marlowe except through the gate tower or down the last stair, which
Hugo and Artur, two longtime veterans, would defend.

“Now you fight or you die,” William shouted, as Diccon burst
out of the tower followed by the crew of veterans who had helped him demolish
the stairs.