The Sterkarm Handshake (43 page)

Toorkild had struggled into his jakke, and Isobel was bending down so he could lean on her while he stepped into his long boots, which she held for him. She helped him pull them up.

“If they hurt Per,” Ingram said. “If they hurt him …”

“We can no take horses down there,” Wat said.

“Shut up and listen,” Gobby said. “An eye's blink of thought be worth a day's march. Think: Why have they lumbered themselves with Per?”

“No bloody riddles!” Toorkild said. Isobel was helping him on with his other boot. “Say tha piece!”

“They'll no hurt him while they think they're getting away,” Gobby said. “Only if we press 'em too close will he be in danger.”

Toorkild stamped his feet into his boots. “I want my son back!”

“I want my brother's-son back. And I ken how to get him back whole.”

Isobel, out of breath from her struggles with the boots and from supporting Toorkild's weight, said, “Harken to him, Toorkild.”

Gobby said, “We ken which way they gan, and we ken where they gan. Have tha weapon's stores been broken into?”

“Nay,” Sweet Milk said.

“Then they've no weapons. No boots to their feet. It'll take them all night. We can be at ford long before them.” Gobby watched his audience looking at each other and nodding. They all knew there was only one place within miles to cross Bedes Water. “If we no get Per back at ford, well, we'll have men sitting at their Gate. We'll let them gan right to it.”

Toorkild hissed through his teeth. “Let my little lad stay in their hands that long!”

“Tell me, Toorkild,” Gobby said, “when we get Per back, what wilt do to Elven?”

“Cut 'em into gobbets no bigger than peas.”

“Aye. If thou wert them, wouldst give him up? For owt? As long as they think they can get away, he be safe. He be only thing they have to bargain with. It be when they're cornered we must worry.”

“And that'll be at Gate!” Toorkild said. “What's to stop 'em killing him then?” Isobel moaned and clutched at his arm.

“Nowt,” Gobby admitted. “But they'll have Gate in sight. They'll think they're all but home. It'll be easier to talk them into giving him up then.”

Isobel struck her husband on the chest. “That be sense! Harken to him!”

Toorkild put his arms round her, hugging her to stop her hitting him. To Gobby, he said, “I shall no let them go.”

Gobby laughed. “Think I will? Gobbets no bigger than grain!”

Toorkild nodded, and a short time after that all the men with horses were mounted. Carrying their long lances upright, they rode slowly away down the tower's path, fading and melting into the darkness. Only faint sounds of hoof tread and harness came drifting back.

Joe watched them disappear, feeling as if he'd been left out of a party. You're better off, he told himself. You'll live a bit longer. But his heart beat and his thoughts ran with its beat. What was it like, to fight with the Sterkarms? He was a Sterkarm, but was he brave enough?

Isobel ran back into the tower and opened up storerooms. She armed everyone—women and old men, young lads and menservants—with sickles and scythes, with axes, long knives, staves: anything heavy or sharp that might serve as a weapon. Joe got an axe.

Isobel kilted her skirts to her knees and led her army out of the tower gate and down the hill, following after the horsemen. She stood to one side of the path, watching them go past her in the dark. As Joe went by, Isobel was saying, “And Entraya, that Elf!” She raised the cleaver in her hand. “I'll make dog's meat of her.”

23

16th Side: Making Up

“Per, be so kind, listen. Per …”

Andrea felt wretched. She shivered with cold, but her hands and knees glowed with the heat of grazed skin. Her hips and bum and thighs ached from falls on hard ground or rock. Her boots had protected her from toe stubbings but, unlaced, had moved on her feet and rubbed them into hot sores. Trying to climb down the steep stream bed in the dark had been disastrous.

Worse than her own stumblings and bruises had been listening to Per retching and coughing and gasping for breath through the sock that she'd handed over to gag him. Occasionally moonlight had filtered down into the dark, narrow valley and, in shades of gray and gray-blue, had shown her Per twisting and tossing his head like a fly-bothered horse, uselessly trying to rid himself of the tormenting gag. The cord tying his elbows and pulling them so awkwardly behind his back had to hurt too. All the time they'd struggled over and between the stones and boulders, she'd ached with misery for him and had longed to help, but hadn't even been able to keep up as Bryce tugged Per along by the belt, often pulling him off his feet. Every time Per had fallen, she'd known exactly how much it hurt, from falling herself.

She'd tried telling herself that she should be thinking of the poor men who'd been killed, and of the men with her, who were just as bruised and cold and scared, but she knew and loved Per better than any of those men, and every time she heard him retch or gasp, she wanted to take hold of him and help him, and couldn't.

Bryce called a halt when he was sure no one had followed them into the valley. They'd called softly to each other until they were all gathered in the shelter of a great lump of rock as big as a house. Sitting on the rubble of smaller rocks beneath it, they huddled together, trying to share warmth, since it was a damp, chilly night, and most of them were in shirtsleeves and barefoot. Andrea had squeezed in between Per and Bryce, her bruises painful against the rock.

None of them were comfortable, but Per, with his arms wrenched behind him, had been unable to lean back or sit up straight or lie down—and they could hear him constantly munching at the gag, and retching and coughing.

“Please,” Andrea had said to Bryce, “couldn't you untie him? He can't get away with you all here, and the better we treat him, the better—”

“Okay!” Bryce had said. With the other men standing guard, he'd untied Per's arms, and then tied his wrists together. His arms were still behind his back, but more comfortable.

“Thank you,” Andrea had said, and had let a few minutes pass before saying, “Could you take out his gag? I mean, he's not going—”

“Do it,” Windsor said. “I'm sick of listening to that noise.”

Sighing, Bryce had roughly shoved down Per's head, so he could reach the knot in the cord holding the gag. Unable to undo it in the dark, he'd wrenched the cord over Per's head, tearing at his hair, and tugged a length of sodden sock from between Per's teeth.

After first drawing a long deep breath, Per had coughed and worked his jaw.
“Tahk.”

“What's he say?”

“Thanks,” Andrea had said. “He says thanks.”

Bryce had been amused. “He's polite, I'll give him that. Tell him the minute he gives me any grief, I'll ram this sock so far down his throat that—well, you get the idea.” He stuffed the sodden sock and lace into his pocket.

“Per, thu maun nigh tala.”
Thou must not talk.

Per had refused to answer her then, as he was refusing now. In the faint light, where his head was merely a denser darkness against darkness, she could tell that his face was turned away from her. But her side was pressed against his, her thigh against his, and she could tell by the braced tension in his body that he was aware of her.

“Per, I be sad for what happened. Harken to me, be so kind. I got them to take gag away, did I no? Per—”

“What are you saying to him?” Bryce asked, from her other side.

“Nothing!”

“Shut up then. There's nothing he needs to know.”

Andrea wanted to say: I need him to know that I didn't lay a trap for him. Even if they never saw each other again after tonight—especially if they never saw each other again—she needed him to know that. But she couldn't say that to Bryce. She couldn't say it where Windsor might overhear.

Per worked a bit of wool from between his teeth and lip, and spat it out. His face ached from his jaws having been held open for so long by the gag, and the retching and coughing had left his throat so strained and sore that he didn't think he'd be able to do more than whisper.

He hunched and relaxed his shoulders, trying to ease the ache in them. Trying to pull his hands apart only made the cord tighten around his wrists. The Elven knew about knots.

“Per?” It was Andrea's voice, spoken hardly louder than a breath, close by his ear. The breath stirred his hair against his skin and he shivered. His throat closed, his eyes filled with tears.

I set my back against an oak,

Thinking it a strong and trusty tree,

But first it bent, and then it broke,

And so did my true love to me.

He'd been captured because he'd trusted that where she was, there could be no danger for him. Because of her, Cuddy was dead. Even when she'd kissed him, she'd been lying to him.

“Per.” They were touching, but only because all of them were crowded so close in the shelter of the rock. Her hand hovered in the dark—and then she determined to stop timidly begging him for some sign of being willing to listen to her. She put her hand on his knee and said, “Per, I did no plan this, I meant none of it to happen, I did no—”

He pulled away from her, twisting his upper body and jolting into Bryce, who was knocked into the man next to him, who bumped into others. There were groans and smothered protests as men were startled from uncomfortable, unhappy dozes.

“Per—”

Per was furious that she could be so shameless as to speak to him, and spat at her, “Guthrun!”

“Hey, hey,” Bryce said, and grabbed at the scruff of Per's neck.

“Guthrun?” Andrea said. “I be
Guthrun
? Oh Per! Thou wert in hall. I thought tha'd stay there. How could I ken tha'd come haring—”

Too angry to keep a silent dignity any longer, Per said, “Tha
told
me to come!”

“I told thee?”

“Hey,” Bryce said. The other men could be heard moving, shuffling against the rock, disturbed by a fierce, whispered quarrel they couldn't understand.

“I never told thee! I
told
thee to stay—”

Per leaned toward her, and was half choked by Bryce's grip on his collar. “Tha told Nanse to tell me—”

“I never—”

“That thou wert in thy bower—in bed—” He broke off.

Andrea let a couple of breaths pass before she said, “I told her to say I had a head pain and had gone to sleep it off. I meant thee to stay
in hall
. Oh Per, tha'rt a bonehead.” An apt Sterkarm expression dropped into her mind. “Tha've a sheep's head and a ram's—”

He dragged against Bryce's grip. “And tha'rt a
cod-fish
!”

Bryce shook him. “Hey, hey, hey. Less of it. I can gag him again.”

Andrea reached around Per to lay her hand on Bryce's arm. “It's all right. I'm only saying that I'm sorry about his dog.”

Windsor's voice came from the darkness. “He doesn't seem to be taking it very well.”

Andrea ignored him. “Per, be so kind, believe me, I never meant for thee to be caught.” She put her hand on his chest and, when he didn't try to pull away or push her off, she put her hand to the back of his neck and prized Bryce's threatening hand away. “I never meant for anybody else to be hurt, Per. I was trying to
stop
any more folk being hurt.”

That struck a true note with him. She was always worrying about folk being hurt, and trying hopelessly to think of ways to stop them being hurt. When she put her face close to his and kissed his cheek, he didn't try to stop her, though he knew he should, if he didn't want to be her fool.

“And Per, tha must believe me, be so kind, I never would have wanted Cuddy to be hurt—I loved Cuddy—be so kind, blame me not for that—”

“Oh, Entraya.” All he could do, with his hands tied behind his back, was to press his cheek against hers, and nuzzle in the hollow of her neck. When she started to shake and sob, tears filled his own eyes, and he knew he would have believed her even if he'd watched her take the dagger and stab Cuddy—he was that big a fool.

“I thought thou'd be in hall, and she'd be with thee, and you'd both be safe! I was only going to let Elven loose, and then I was coming back.” She wasn't sure herself if this was true. Perhaps, at the last moment, she really would have turned back. Even if it was a lie, if Per found it comforting, it was a kind lie.

“Entraya …” She had her arms round his neck, and he turned his head within her embrace, trying to kiss her.

“But I've made such a mess of it all, and now I be so scared—”

“Ssh, little one—”

“God!” Windsor said. “This is nauseating. Have we got to listen to it?” There was some murmured agreement from the other men. Cold, damp, hungry, battered and scared, they weren't much in the mood for lovers.

“Leave them alone,” Bryce said. “So long as they're quiet.”

“We will all be killed,” Andrea sobbed into Per's neck. “I got Cuddy killed, and now I shall get all the rest of us killed! I be so sad for it all, Per. I never meant it.”

“Entraya, ssh!” He whispered in her ear, and kissed it, making the hair stand up all over her. “No one will hurt thee, no one.”

“But them,” she said. “They'll be hurt. It be all my fault …”

“Ssh! Ssh!” He kissed her ear and her cheek, trying to find her mouth. He couldn't comfort her by saying that the men around them would be unhurt, since if he had anything to do with it, every one of them would be cut into collops, in revenge for Cuddy alone.
“Thu air sikka, Lam. Inyen skahl sawrer thu. Kews migh.”
Thou'rt safe, Lamb. No one shall hurt thee. Kiss me.

They leaned to each other, opening their mouths—and drawing back as the first touch sent darts of pain through their split lips. They both smiled, which hurt more, and moved together again. Andrea licked at Per's mouth, where it was hurt, and he licked back, and the bruises, the cold and the hard rock under them stopped mattering so much. Andrea refused to care about the other men, so close around them, listening. This might be the last she ever had of Per.

There was a sound of scrambling as Windsor struggled up from the huddle of men and stumbled his way to them. “I've had enough of this.” He took Per by a handful of hair and tried to drag him away from Andrea—but she clung to Per, and their mouths clung together.

“Leave 'em!” Bryce said.

But some of the other men, as angry as Windsor, got hold of Andrea and dragged her away from Per, their fingers biting hard into her arms. She struck out at them, as angry as she was scared.

“What about snogging
us
?” one of the men asked, and Windsor said, “You make me sick!”

Bryce was on his feet. She could see him, dimly, standing taller than the other stooping figures. “Leave her alone! Leave her! Sit down—now!” Someone was clouted. In the darkness, she couldn't see who, but hoped it wasn't Per.

And then everyone settled down again, though they muttered. Her heart was thumping. And she wasn't sitting by Per any longer.

Per, his head aching worse than ever because of Windsor's hauling on his hair, settled himself to wait. Morning would come, and when it did, he would get his chance.

Bedes Water was a brown water running fast over many rocks with a constant purling and gushing. It caught what little light there was, making a milky twilight about its banks that, within a few feet, faded to darkness. At the ford, the only place in the whole valley's length where the water could be safely crossed, the Sterkarms waited. The little horses, loose, wandered here and there or stood still, dozing. The men crouched on the ground, wrapped in cloaks, grimly waiting out the night.

Isobel and her foot army came tramping across the springy turf of the valley and joined them. Women, children and men huddled together, sharing cloaks and warmth, breathing in the cold smell of the water.

Throughout the long night, at intervals, riders came in from patrolling the waterside, the horses treading gently. Other men rose as these dismounted, whistled to their horses, mounted and rode off.

Some passed the time sleeping, others in kissing, or telling stories or singing songs, until the darkness over the valley paled, as if water had been added to ink. Joe watched as a patrol rode in, looming startlingly clear from the dawn twilight, the metallic chink of their weapons and harness ringing in the new day's fresh, cold air.

A woman's voice rose, hoarse but tuneful:

“Now Yanny's good yew bow is broke,

And his good gazehounds are slain,

And he sleeps in deep greenwood,

With all his hunting done, done,

With all his hunting done.”