Winter Song (57 page)

“If you know something that will save lives and, more
especially, save time in freeing Lady Beatrice, you will receive a just reward,
I promise.”

Deliberately, Raymond had not said “my wife and Lady
Beatrice”, despite the fact that bringing Alys out of Les Baux was far more
important to him than bringing out Beatrice. If this was Ernaldus, he was too
likely to make the connection between “Lord Raymond” and Lady Alys, and that
would be the end of any voluntary information. More could be extracted by
torture, but that would take time and might not be reliable.

There was a perceptible pause. A just reward. Ernaldus did
not like that. He would rather have heard “a rich reward”, but he had gone too
far to turn back. Cursing under his breath, he felt under his robe and held out
a key.

“This opens the Sow’s Tower in which Lady Beatrice is
imprisoned,” he said.

He expected a cry of joy, but Raymond only stared at him and
then held out his hand for the key. Ernaldus whimpered, seeing his reward diminish
to nothing as this foul, dishonest lord took the credit and left him with
nothing.

Raymond hefted the key in his hand. “It might be worth its
weight in gold—if I were inside Les Baux and had a way out,” he said. His voice
was low and sounded indifferent, but that was because his heart was up in his
throat, pounding.

“There is a postern, a way through the walls,” Ernaldus
offered, a small hope breaking through because of Raymond’s mention of gold.

“So it often is,” Raymond remarked, his voice still stifled
as excitement grew in him, “but such ways are locked and guarded.”

“One is not…not now.”

Ernaldus forced the words out through his teeth, terrified
at Raymond’s lack of reaction. But Raymond was only fighting the desire to grab
Ernaldus and drag him to the secret entrance without the necessary preparation.
Raymond knew this could not be a trap. Guillaume needed no hostages because he already
had in his hands the most valuable hostage in Provence. Thus, what Ernaldus
offered was truly a path to Alys, now, this very night. To move or speak until
he crushed his violent joy and eagerness, Raymond knew, would only lead to
failure of the attempt through rash action.

Finally Raymond gained enough control of his voice to ask, “Where
is this open door?”

“It is not an easy door,” Ernaldus faltered.

“I do not care if it passes through hell,” Raymond exclaimed,
“so long as it takes me into Les Baux.”

The violent intensity of Raymond’s desire had broken through
that time, and Ernaldus jerked with surprise. It frightened Ernaldus even more.
It seemed clear to him that Raymond had not wanted to say what he did say, and
the sudden about-face in intention startled Ernaldus. He shivered as Raymond
caught his arm.

“Where?” Raymond demanded, his voice shaking.

“On the west, where the cliff is lowest, there is a way up
the rock, not a path but a clear way of handholds and footholds,” Ernaldus
gabbled.

Raymond had leaned closer, and Ernaldus had finally seen his
face. That, too, had a look of Rustengo. It
was
Raymond d’Aix! And the
pale eyes frightened him. They seemed fixed and blind, like the eyes of one
possessed. Ernaldus recalled the horrible notion he had had about the ghost of
Lady Alys. He shivered again and checked that thought. Could he hope to placate
the vengeful spirit?

“But the door is not there,” Raymond said.

This was only good sense, a soldier’s knowledge of correct
tactical precaution, but Ernaldus shuddered violently. To him it seemed like
unnatural prescience, a thing only a supernatural being would know. He shook so
hard that Raymond noticed and called out for someone to bring a dry blanket or
cloak. The creature might be sly and slimy as a snake, but Raymond did not want
him too chilled to show the path.

Still, he did not wait for the cloak to come but repeated, “Where
is the door?”

“Do you not know?” Ernaldus quavered.

And suddenly Raymond laughed, because in a way he did know.
Unless there was some special difficulty, the door should not be visible from
the path that led to it. In this case, it would probably be around the corner
of a tower or bend in the wall.

“Perhaps I do,” Raymond acknowledged, not comprehending at
all the terror he was fixing into Ernaldus’s mind and soul, “but tell me
anyway.”

Nothing could be hidden from the spirits of the dead,
Ernaldus knew, and Lord Raymond had all but admitted he knew what was
impossible for him to know, unless his dead wife possessed him. Ernaldus’s eyes
rolled up in his head and he dropped unconscious.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Raymond was somewhat surprised when the clerk who called
himself Bernard fainted dead away, but he attributed it to the man’s fear of being
harmed now that all his secrets had been extracted from him. He could not be
troubled with that and merely called the men nearest to him and bade them take
Ernaldus to a tent and see if some warm wine would revive him. All Raymond’s
attention was now concentrated on the practical aspects of entering and leaving
Les Baux.

Handholds and footholds were not too bad going up, Raymond
knew, for he had done some climbing in the mountains near Gordes. However, they
were very dangerous going down, and for Beatrice and Margot, impossible. Alys?
Well, Alys might have difficulty, too, Raymond conceded grudgingly, he was
rapidly approaching the state of mind in which he resented admitting there was
anything Alys could not do. But the area around Marlowe had no mountains, and
Alys could have had no experience with cliffs. Accordingly, seven men, all from
mountainous areas with climbing experience, were chosen and every piece of rope
in the camp was collected.

These orders caused a good deal of grumbling. Arnald and his
men came near to insubordination when they were told they could not accompany
Raymond. Only the strongest representations of the fact that they would be a
great danger to their mistress if they fell quieted their protests. By the time
the ropes were tied together safely, the rain had stopped, but the night was
considerably advanced. There was some danger that dawn would come before the
rescue was complete.

Raymond weighed that danger against the chance that Ernaldus’s
absence would inspire a thorough search and the discovery of the unbarred
secret way. Had he such a rat in his entourage, treachery such as opening a
path into the keep would be the first suspicion in his mind, Raymond thought.
On those grounds, it seemed the lesser risk to go at once.

When Ernaldus was brought from the tent, he made no more
protest than the single cry, “Will it not soon be light?” But he saw Raymond’s
pale eyes flash, and his mind’s eye made out the fixed—possessed—eagerness of
the face he could not really see. As he was set upon a horse, Ernaldus heard a
command in a language he did not understand but recognized. The voice was
familiar, too. It was the voice and language of Lady Alys’s master-at-arms.
Ernaldus nearly fell off the horse, but the man behind whom he was riding felt
him sway and gripped him tight.

Now Ernaldus was so sick and frozen with terror that he
could not scream, could not try to wrench himself free. He saw everything that
had happened to him since that meeting with Lady Alys under the walls of
Blancheforte as one great pattern. Ernaldus knew he was evil. He knew he had
not given mercy or
caritas
to his fellows. He had always told himself
that there would be time to confess, to repent, to give to the Church and pray.
When he had amassed sufficient wealth, when he had reached a position of honor,
when he was content, then he would amend his life and make his peace with God.

But he had been given a warning and had not heeded it. When
Lady Alys reviled him for his wickedness, instead of taking warning and making
restitution, he had arranged for her death. Ernaldus tried to find contrition,
but what rose in him was hatred, only hatred, which was beaten down into terror
but rose again. The blessed did not walk the earth after death nor possess
other bodies. Thus, the blonde bitch, Lady Alys, was accursed, too, an emissary
of Satan come to fetch him.

Vaguely Ernaldus felt himself removed from the horse and
prodded forward. There was brush and loose rock, and he was pushed and pulled,
forced to crouch, even to lie down, then pushed and pulled onward. The trek
seemed endless. Then there was a steep wall before him. He looked around in a
dream. Was this hell already?

“This is the west cliff face,” a voice said in his ear. “Where
are the climbing holds?”

The clouds had drawn off, and there was a glimmer of
moonlight. Ernaldus had never seen this place in the dark, although he had come
more than once by daylight. It was instinctive in him to seek a back door. He
had not used this path to flee because he had been afraid to climb down, but he
had marked the way well. He himself did not realize how well he had marked it.

“Where?” the voice prodded.

Ernaldus went forward, moving aimlessly along the cleft and
fractured rock face farther west until he found a dark crevice. “Here,” he
said. He did not care. They could only kill him, but he knew they would not.
Worse was coming.

The best climber came forward, hunchbacked under the great
coil of rope. He felt around, grunted with satisfaction, and began to creep
upward. Ernaldus watched without surprise. He was quite sure that had he chosen
any other crevice, the handholds and footholds would have appeared there. It
would be no trouble to God, or to the devil, to order such a thing. There was a
profound silence. From the place where he had been pulled and forced to squat,
Ernaldus looked out and around. There was soft breathing, but otherwise he
would have sworn he was alone. At last there was a sound, a dull, soft,
thumping slither. The rope had come down from above.

When it did, Raymond took a half-step, then gritted his
teeth and stepped back into the deeper shadow. He was so eager to get up the
cliff that his breath would not come evenly. He smiled tautly, thinking that it
took more strength and courage to wait at this moment, than to charge into the
set lances of an opposing army. But wait he must, as he was the worst climber
and more heavily burdened with steel mail and heavier weapons than his men.

Waiting… Raymond’s head turned toward the clerk. Was that
what was wrong with the man? Raymond knew there had been a change in him, but
he hoped he had not exposed his suspicions. Perhaps Bernard either feared
entering Les Baux again or feared heights. Or perhaps, Raymond thought, he had
given some sign that he did not believe Bernard was an innocent clerk. The last
thought made Raymond order that Ernaldus be gagged and bound. If he cried out
or got away from them, they would be undone.

Ernaldus submitted without objection to the gagging and
having his hands bound, which Raymond thought peculiar, but when the
man-at-arms reached around him to fasten the rope that would pull him up the
cuff, he began to struggle, kicking and writhing. It was in restraining him
that the hard rolls of gold coins fastened around his waist were discovered,
and these were stripped away at once. Ernaldus went limp after the gold was
gone. His struggles had been instinctive. Now he thought he should have
expected it. The priests said a man could not take his wealth through death’s
door, whether it led to heaven or to hell. He felt no fear as he was hauled
swiftly up. Not yet. Worse was coming.

The discovery of the gold virtually killed Raymond’s
suspicions. It was reason enough for all the man’s peculiar behavior. Some of
the nearly unbearable tension drained out of Raymond. It had been a strain to
think he might be so close to the person who had tried to kill Alys and still
keep a calm exterior instead of choking the man to death. And if Ernaldus was
in Les Baux, they would get him easily when Sir Guillaume surrendered, as he
must when his hostages were gone.

Raymond went up directly after Ernaldus, not hauled but
helped by the rope, and finally the last man reached the top and drew the rope
up after him. Then they crouched and listened. They had not made much noise, and
the crevice was in deep shadow. Unfortunately, the moon was out now, very low,
but it sent a thin, cold light against the cliffs. That light struck them, and
all crouched as close as possible to the foot of the wall. They did not expect
to be noticed. Each man hoped the guards’ attention was on the woods at the
foot of the road where the camp was.

No cry of alarm rang out, and one at a time, they moved
farther west along the wall and then around a sharp bend. Here there was
shadow, the moonlight being blocked by the curve of the wall. Not much farther
along was the heavy iron grating. One of the men took a pot from his pouch and
applied a liberal coating of grease, working it in between the frame and the
grating itself with his knife blade. He stuck his hand through and greased the
hinges too, breaking his nails as he pushed the grease in and around. Another
man joined him, greasing the latch, which was, as promised, unlocked. Satisfied
at last, the men pushed cautiously. There was a low groan but no loud screech.
They paused to listen, but Raymond gestured impatiently and they pushed the
grating open all the way.

Surprisingly, it was not difficult to slide in, although the
opening was very small, as long as one went slowly, either hips first or with
arms stretched above his head. After that discovery, everything was so easy
that everyone, except Ernaldus, began to pray that so much good luck would not
lead to bad. Behind the grating was no narrow crawl space but a reasonably
commodious tunnel. This was utterly lightless, but feeling along the walls led
them to the lower chamber of a tower. In this, the door to the bailey was open,
and a thin gray light came in, enough to show the blacker shapes of tubs and
barrels and save them from bumping against anything.