Winter Song (22 page)

Before the four who had continued to climb reached the top floor
of the keep, the fourth man realized there was no one following him. He
hastened his step and plucked the man ahead by the tunic to report this
defection. Word passed up to the leader just before he arrived at the door to
the women’s quarters. He paused only for a moment before he snarled, “It will
not take more than four of us to strangle one small woman. You heard Master
Ernaldus. The man is gone. There are none but women above. Do you fear the
maidservants of this keep?”

One of the other men laughed coarsely. “Why kill her right
off?” he asked. “If we stuff her mouth so she cannot cry out, we could try out
whether gentlewomen are softer down there as well as elsewhere.”

The leader liked the idea well enough, but he was not quite
as stupid as the others and something told him there would be no time to waste.
He hesitated slightly as he lifted the latch of the door, vaguely troubled that
no plan had been laid out for him to follow after the death of the woman. He
made an indeterminate growl. The man behind had been fired by his own carnal
suggestion and he took the sound to be acceptance of it. He pushed eagerly
forward, and his eagerness both infected and shamed the leader, so that he
pushed the door open at once.

Raymond had kept men and horses to a hard pace as long as
the light lasted. When it was too dark to see the road properly, he decreed a
rest. The animals were fed and watered, and the men chewed at rock-hard travel
bread and well-smoked strips of meat. Raymond found more delicate fare, pieces
of roast fowl and slabs of cold beef and pork, together with a stoppered flask
of wine packed by Sir Oliver’s lady. Since he joined his men around the fire
they had built for warmth, he shared out a good part of these provisions, which
made for good cheer and good feeling all around. Stomachs full, the men
stretched out to sleep until the moon rose.

The going was slower when they rode out again. Although the
horses had been rested, they were not as fresh as when they had started. The
moonlight was deceptive on the rutted road, and no pace faster than a trot was
safe. Nor was there any need, for Raymond was not in any particular hurry. He
knew there would be a warm bed and a tender welcome for him at whatever time he
arrived. Moreover, even when the moon rose higher and the light improved, they
went no faster, because Raymond was not familiar with the road. It looked very
different in the dark than it had the previous day in the light, and he was
afraid he would miss the turn to Blancheforte.

Despite his care, however, they did just that. Fortunately,
the road curved after the turnoff, and Raymond caught a glimpse of the black
rectangle of a tower against the luminous sky before they had gone far. All
turned eagerly when Raymond called out. They were cold and tired and very glad
to be done with their journey. It was with hearty goodwill that all shouted for
admittance.

There was a light in the gate tower, but Raymond was not
sanguine about the wakefulness of the guard. One on the wall and one below at
the gate itself were all he had decreed. There was, after all, nothing but
thieves to guard against, and no thief would attack a closed keep. Nor could
sixteen men-at-arms do anything more than two against any force strong enough
to dare the walls.

On the top floor of the castle, the four men who had entered
the women’s quarters had covered about half the distance to Alys’s chamber when
one of the maidservants Alys had disturbed a little earlier stirred and opened
her eyes. For a moment she lay still, half asleep, watching the candle and
wondering why her mistress was wandering about so restlessly this night. In the
next instant she realized it was a man carrying the candle and that there were
others following him. Almost simultaneously, she recognized the face of the
leader. A shriek of pure terror was wrenched from her before thought could urge
the silence of caution. Two other women were not yet completely asleep.
Startled into sitting up, they, too, screamed. The three cries woke the other
women, who also began to shriek at the sight of the devils they had thought
were confined below. With utter contempt, the leader did not even pause. One of
the other men, however, shouted, “Shut your mouths,” and started off toward the
women’s pallets to enforce his orders.

Seeing him advance in their direction made several others
push off their blankets and leap to their feet. Two of the women, thinking only
to escape their terror, ran for the door. A second man moved to intercept them.
Stupid as the four men might be, they were not so stupid as to want the
menservants in the main hall warned. They had no fear of the women, whom they
thought of as cowed animals, but they did not want the creatures running out
into the bailey, screaming with fear, and alerting Alys’s men-at-arms.

At the first shriek, Bertha, who lay in the small chamber on
the other side of the anteroom from Alys’s bedchamber, started awake. When the
second two women cried out, she rose from her bed muttering angrily, “What the
devil has started those silly hens to cackling?” The male voice made her hesitate
a bare instant. Could the lord have come home? She was drawing on her outer
gown even as the thought crossed her mind. Lord Raymond might desire food or
drink, and she must certainly quiet those women or he would be furious.
Lighting a candle from her night light, Bertha darted from her chamber. Alys
had bounded out of bed at the first scream. She had not been asleep. She had
been lying quiet by force of will, calling herself a fool because she was tense
with fear. The maidservant’s cry, then, was almost a relief. She had known something
was wrong; she had felt it. Alys had her bedrobe and slippers on before the
second two shrieks rang out and her candle lit before the man’s voice called
for silence. Her heart leapt once with joy and relief before she realized the
deep, coarse voice was not Raymond’s. Terror replaced joy. Alys could not
imagine from where the threat came nor how she could defend herself. If the
enemy was already in her women’s quarters, that meant her own men had been
overpowered. All Alys could grasp at was to bar her doors. Whatever small delay
that would create might at least give her time to think. She rushed from her
bedchamber with her candle in her left hand and her eating knife in her right,
just as Bertha emerged from the other room. The sight of two men jolted Bertha
instantaneously into fear. Although she had no time to think clearly, instinct
bred by lifelong habit told her that no man but the master ever came into the
women’s quarters. She screamed and threw what happened to be in her hand—the
candle—right into the second man’s face.

The hot wax splashed his cheek, and the candlestick struck
his neck. His hand flew up to ward off the missile and soothe the hurt, and
grabbed the guttering candle, holding it still for a single instant before he
thrust it away. But the thrusting motion came too late. In the split second he
had paused, the flame ignited his grease-laden hair. He screamed, which
distracted the leader’s attention just long enough for Alys, with her knife, to
slash the hand outstretched to seize her, and dart out through the door.

Bellowing with rage and pain, the leader ran after her,
leaving the other man shrieking and beating at his hair with his hands. Bertha
had frozen after she had thrown the candle, but seeing the helpless terror of
the man she had set afire reduced her fear enough to allow her to act. Had the
way to the door been clear, she would have run out after Alys. However, her
screaming victim was now blocking her path, so she seized a small table by the
legs from beside Alys’s chair and swung it with all her strength at his head.

The table struck with a most satisfying
thunk
. Bertha
emitted a yell of glee and rushed out, still carrying the table. The outer room
was in complete chaos, full of screaming women running about like chickens with
their heads off. One man was still by the door. The moment he moved, women ran
toward what they hoped would be safety. Bertha could see him because the night
candle placed nearby was still burning. She looked about for her mistress, but
in their senseless running about, the maidservants had knocked over the two
other night candles, which had, as a result, been extinguished, and the main
room was totally black at the far end.

When Alys had gone out the doorway, she had paused for one
instant to repeat Bertha’s maneuver. Hers, unfortunately, was not equally
successful. The man following her dodged easily and, still bellowing with rage,
charged forward at her. Alys, however, had not run straight ahead. She had
turned toward the door to the stairs, but stopped abruptly when she saw the man
on guard there. Meanwhile, the man who had been pursuing her had snatched at a
maidservant who crossed his path.

He held her just long enough to see that her hair was not
blonde, but that was long enough. While he threw the maidservant from him so
that she screamed with mingled pain and relief, Alys ran past behind him toward
the darkest part of the room. She almost shrieked aloud herself when a huge
shadow rose before her, but she realized in time that it was one of the looms,
which had been set up. She darted behind it and felt safe enough for the moment
to pause, catch her breath, and look around.

Although it was very dark where she stood, Alys could see
into the room moderately well because figures moved against the light of the
one remaining night candle. What she saw was a revelation. Aside from the man
at the door, there were only two larger figures. The women seemed to be running
wild more from simple terror than from being pursued. This knowledge steadied
Alys so that her mind cleared. Immediately she guessed from the stance of the
man at the door that no reinforcements were expected. This would be a most
unlikely eventuality if an enemy force of some kind had entered Blancheforte
and had killed or captured her men-at-arms. The first place conquerors headed
was the women’s quarters, where the richest fabrics and the strongbox were
likely to be kept.

Then Alys noticed something even more significant about the
man she could see clearly. He had no weapons and was dressed in filthy rags.
She realized these were not invaders, they were the prisoner men-at-arms! What
a fool she had been to take for granted that all the remaining servants hated
and feared those men. One of them had sneaked down and released them, or
perhaps it was one of the erstwhile favorites who had returned to Blancheforte
in the guise of a laborer. Fury rose in Alys, but she quelled it. Rage could
lead to rashness.

If only the women were not such hysterical fools, there
would have been no danger at all. While any two grappled with one of the men, a
third could strike him senseless from behind. If she could call out to them,
order them, they might come to their senses, but it was clear that the men were
not merely trying to seize any woman, they were searching for her. Suddenly
someone came out of her apartment carrying something. The man Bertha had
distracted? No. The form was too small. It must be Bertha herself. Perhaps the
two of them could manage alone, but Alys knew she needed a better weapon than
her small eating knife.

She thrust the knife into the belt of her robe and began to
feel around the loom for a loose piece that might be wrenched off to serve as a
club. In a minute she desisted, cursing herself for wasting time. The loom had
been repaired only a few days previously under the direction of the two weaving
women Alys had hired to teach, or reteach, the Blancheforte maids this work.
There was no chance any of the wooden dowels would have dried and loosened. But
weaving led her mind instantly to spinning. A distaff, with its standing shaft
and heavy foot, would make a most excellent club.

Now the darkness, which had been a friend, became an enemy.
Alys could have wept with frustration when she realized she had become
disoriented and did not know where the spinning instruments were. Had they been
moved back against the walls? In Marlowe that was always done, but that was
because there were many more maids in Marlowe and the space was needed to lay
out the sleeping pallets. Here, if the maids had not been specially instructed,
they would not have moved a heap of filth from the floor.

Still, it was necessary to move, to do something quickly.
Alys could see Bertha’s head turning from side to side anxiously. She could not
believe her mistress was among the shrieking, darting women and was looking for
some stealthy movement. Alys’s mind scurried round and round like a rat in a
trap, but she could not think of a way to attract Bertha’s attention without
also attracting the two men’s. The intruders had managed to grab and overcome
two of the women already. She would have to find a distaff and move to attack
one of the men, hoping that Bertha would rush to her assistance and that
perhaps one or two of those cackling geese would also come to their senses.

Wasting no more time, Alys moved back away from the loom
until she could sense the cold seeping from the stone wall. Then she went to
the left, bending down and sweeping her hands gently ahead of her. With any
luck at all, Bertha would instinctively have followed Marlowe practice. The
distaffs and carding devices would be against the wall, and she would come in
contact with one or the other quickly. Perhaps Bertha would even notice her
moving.

At first, luck seemed to be with her. Only a few steps past
the loom, Alys’s hand came upon a carding device. She grasped at it eagerly,
but it was too heavy and awkward for her purpose. Breathing curses, she went
forward quickly, passing another carding device. Surely the distaffs were here,
also. God could not be so cruel as to have allowed Bertha to direct the
spinners be separated from the carders. No, it was not sensible.