Anita Mills (42 page)

“Once you are inside, Hob, you know where you are to go?” Giles asked.

“Aye. I am to throw the latch on the storeroom, that the men of Wycklow may escape.”

Giles nodded. “And then?”

“My lord, I would cut the ropes that hold the bridge,” Bevis offered, “for he cannot be two places at once.”

It was a dangerous trust, for failure there could well doom Elizabeth and all the others held within. Bevis, seeing the hesitation in Richard of Rivaux’s eyes, hastened to reassure him. “There is no love between me and Eury, my lord, for I cannot forgive him for what he did to his son. For the love I bore my lord Ivo, I’d see you take him.”

“Nay, he is mine. But no matter,” Giles decided. “Can you get from the garderobe to the gate undetected?”

“If they smell me not, they’ll not discover me.”

“What about the catapults? You dare not move them, or Reyner will know what we are about,” Guy reminded Giles grimly.

“As they are not encumbered by the trees, I have hopes of hitting inside from there.”

“ ’Tis too far.”

“For heavy loads, aye, but for the casks, nay.”

“Jesu, and what if they fall short?”

“Then we are burnt.”

It was not a thought to be faced, for the Greek fire they would hurl could not be put out. Where it touched a man it clung, and even rolling in the dirt could not ease the burning. Only covering a man with sufficient sand would smother the flames. It was the one thing Giles could count on setting even wet thatch on fire.

“Whilst Hob opens the storerooms, and Bevis the gate, we cover the wall with the fire. The archers will take high places in the trees and shoot flaming arrows at those who would come upon the wall, taking care to shoot away from Elizabeth. The smoke should be thick enough to cover when we ride in.” Giles paused, looking at the sober faces around him. “I would have Lord Richard take his men through the bridge as soon as it is down. And I would have Count Guy hold his without that none may escape.”

Guy frowned, and his flecked eyes betrayed his misgiving. “And Elizabeth? She cannot escape. What if Reyner in his fury seeks revenge ere you are inside?”

Giles thought of his wife and her ordeal on the wall. “I have hopes that his first thought is to arm, for he has her on the other side from the tower,” he answered soberly. “I mean to use the fire to keep him from her.”

“And if Bevis of Lyons should betray us? Nay, I should rather go up the discharge myself.”

“As would I, but ’tis too small for me or you.” For a long moment Giles’ eyes met Guy’s and held. “Think you I do not consider the risks? Think you I would willingly risk more than I must? My wife is up there, chained to that wall, and my brother lies wounded within. And whether you choose to believe it or no, I hold them dearer than myself.”

“Aye.” Guy sighed heavily, and nodded. “Aye.”

“And if Reyner is taken alive?” Richard wanted to know.

“I will make him fight for his miserable life.”

It was decided then, and still they had to bide their time until darkness covered them. They sat, everything seeming to have been said between them, their faces grim, their bodies unable to rest. Finally Richard went to a corner and picked up the scabbard that held his heavy broadsword. Drawing it out, he held it up to the grey light that came through the tent vent.

Giles dropped to a bench beside him and leaned forward to see it. “ ’Tis a fine weapon,” he murmured in understatement as his eyes focused on the strange lettering on the burnished blade. “I have seen none better.”

“Aye.” Richard balanced it lovingly, scanning along the exquisite gold-inlaid tang and quillon. “ ’Twas Robert of Belesme’s. The writing is Viking runes, and the message is ‘To all who would test me, I bring Hell.’ ’Tis why ’tis called Hellbringer.” When Giles showed no inclination to make the sign of the Cross over his breast, Richard proffered it to him hilt-first. “Belief would have it that he who wields it is charmed against defeat, and he who faces it is doomed.”

The Hellbringer of legend. Giles took it with both hands, weighing it as he cut the air. “ ’Tis a magnificent blade, but ‘twould seem that it did not save Belesme.”

“Nay, it was not in his hand when he was taken,” Guy answered shortly. “He had not the time to reach it.”

It came home again to Giles that the man who stood beside him was the one who’d taken the Devil of Belesme, the one the bards praised in more than one land. The man who now said he was born of Belesme himself. Even as he held Hellbringer, Giles could hear the verses of the song in his mind. And he fought the urge to ask the truth of the story.

“There are those who count the Doomslayer better, for ’tis carried by Guy of Rivaux
,
” he said softly.

“Nay.” The older man walked to where his own scabbard lay and, picking it up, carried it back to Giles. “Try it for yourself.”

Richard received his own sword back, and waited while Giles withdrew the Doomslayer almost reverently from the gold-stamped sheath. “ ’Tis a well-tempered blade,” Guy admitted, “but if ’tis possessed of any charms, I’ve not noted them. ’Tis no better than the skill of the one who wields it, no matter what the jongleurs say.” His mouth twisted wryly for a moment. “You behold a man well into his fifty-second year, Butcher, and the time will come when any younger man is a match for my sword.”

“Nay, Papa—as long as you draw breath, you are Rivaux,” Richard told him.

Giles sheathed the weapon and handed it back. “Like Rivaux, I have mine own pride, my lord, and I’d not be called Butcher by Elizabeth’s family.”

There was a brief, strained silence, then, “How came you by the name?” For a moment the question hung between them, almost like a challenge, until Guy shook his head. “Nay, I should not have asked.”

But Giles let out a deep breath before nodding. “You have the right to know who it is that Elizabeth has wedded,” he acknowledged finally. “I was born at Moray of the second daughter of the earl’s cousin and the lord of Dunashie. My sire stole my mother from her father’s keep near Lanark ere she was wed to Duncan of Ayrie.”

“Bride-stealing seems to be a fault of the lords of Dunashie,” Guy murmured.

Giles ignored the barb. “For five months my grandsire lay siege to Dunashie, and when it fell he took my mother back and imprisoned her husband. He would have sought an annulment for her, but ’twas difficult to deny the consummation of the marriage, for she carried me. Duncan of Ayrie renounced his claim ere I was born, and my grandsire in his anger hanged my sire the day I came forth. ’Twas years ere I knew I was not a bastard.” Giles shrugged as though it mattered not, then went on, “And when England’s King Henry would have surety of the Earl of Moray I was sent into his keeping, for it mattered not what happened to me. ’Twas nine years ere I saw Scotland again,” he recalled, this time betraying his bitterness in his voice. “And in mine absence, my patrimony was given to Hamon of Blackleith.”

“And so you returned to naught?”

“Aye, I was not Rivaux. I sued in King David’s courts for what was mine and waited two years to hear that Hamon had greater right than a boy.” His black eyes met Rivaux’s steadily. “And so I took what was mine, and for it I am called Butcher,” he finished evenly. “Since then, I have held not only Dunashie, but also Blackleith, Kilburnie, and Wraybourn above the border, as well as this pile of stone you see.”

“But you brought her here,” Guy observed abruptly. “Surely the worst of what you have.”

“King David would have me give her back,” Giles reminded him again. “And I’d not do it. To have remained in Scotland would have brought royal wrath on Dunashie.” Mistaking Guy’s silence for condemnation, he bristled. “Though I am not her equal in rank, my lord, I am possessed of more than ten thousand hides of land, so the husband she has taken is not worthless. And when this accursed war is done, I mean to make my peace with King David, that my son will hold all I have won.”

One corner of Guy’s mouth lifted, and the small scar on his cheek wrinkled. In the dimness of the tent, his eyes betrayed a glint of humor. “Nay, her husband is not worthless,” he admitted. “He is the lord of Dunashie. And if she is well pleased, I must accept it.”

Elizabeth shivered beneath the damp blanket and huddled against the low ledge for warmth. The rain had passed, leaving a star-studded sky, and only a single cloud remained to hang from the bottom cusp of the crescent moon. Below, within the keep and without, there was an almost unearthly silence, as though the world held a collective breath while waiting with her. At the other end of the wall one of Eury’s men walked, his soft leather shoes making no sound.

She eased the small knife from beneath her body and, turning her head away from him, she began to saw at the mastiff’s collar. Across the clearing, a lone raven called once. She stared hard into the darkness, looking for movement, and detected nothing. Sighing, she worked the knife harder, and the point pricked her neck. The raven called again, this time closer.

Somewhere below, a fish flopped in the water. And another. The guard at the other end of the wall peered across the way, then sat back down. Holding the blanket high against her cheek to hide what she did, Elizabeth managed to cut through the collar. The chain hit the wall, and the sentry rose nervously again, this time to pace.

“Art all right, lady?”

“Nay. I freeze and I thirst.”

He returned to the corner, then came back with a half-filled wineskin. His eyes glittered in the darkness as he loomed over her. “Uncover yourself, and I will share.”

“Nay,” she said coldly.

His roughened hand tugged at the corner of her blanket. “I’d see Rivaux’s daughter.” His breath reeked of onions and sour wine as he leaned closer. “My lord promises us sport of you ere you die, and I’d be the first.” As he spoke, he groped beneath the woolen cloth to touch her skin.

She tensed, and her hand tightened on the writing knife as his fingers moved to her breast. She pulled back, letting the collar fall between them, and brought up the small blade, slicing across his face. And before he could even cry out in pain he fell forward across her knees, a dagger buried to the hilt in his back. She bit her lip to stifle the scream that formed within as Bevis of Lyons bent to draw out the blade. His clothing bore the stench of offal. He stood and made the raven’s call again.

“Crouch low, for there will be fire,” he whispered hurriedly. “And stay here, lest you be harmed.”

“Reyner…”

He glanced down to his bloody knife and shook his head. “Had I no need of this I’d give it to you, but there is the gate and bridge. I am overlate already, for the small Scot fell coming up.”

“Nay, ‘twill take an axe for that,” she whispered back.

He hesitated, then proffered the dagger. “For the love of your lord, stay down.”

“Aye. Bevis…?”

He’d moved already for the stairs that went down the wall on the inside. His voice betrayed his haste. “What?”

“My thanks.”

“Nay. I do it for Ivo.” With that, he was gone.

There was a faint scraping sound at the other end, then someone else emerged. She eased her knees from beneath the dead man, and crouched, Bevis’ knife ready.

“Och, but he got ’im already,” he muttered.

“Hob!”

“Aye.” Even in the darkness, she could see his gaping grin. “Don’t leave the wall.”

“Where do you go?”

“To seek Willie and the others.”

“Aye.”

“Ye be all right, lady?”

“Aye.” She held up the dagger. “If Reyner comes, I have this.”

His grin faded. “And he wears mail, strike for his throat, pulling yer blade from ear to ear,” he advised. “And if ye cannot, hit him directly beneath his chin.”

“Sweet Jesu, but lean closer,” she whispered as someone came onto the wall. As she spoke, she whimpered and made as though she struggled with an assailant.

“Baldwin…? God’s bones, but not yet! Would you have Rivaux know you despoil his daughter?” the newcomer demanded. “ ’Tis later we sport.” He laid a hand on Hob’s back to pull him away, then he smelled the waste. “What…?”

The wiry Scot ducked beneath him, coming up with his knife as he’d told Elizabeth, striking the neck in the center. There was a surprised cough, then a gurgle as the man of Eury fell, clutching his throat. Hob leaned over him to finish the task.

“ ’Tis how ye do it,” he told her cheerfully as he stood again.

After he also had disappeared, she was left with the two bodies. For a moment she considered pushing them over the side, then feared the noise would be too great. Instead, she pulled the blood-soaked corner of her blanket from beneath them and knelt in the shelter of the low ledge. In the distance the clearing was suddenly alight with torches, and the smell of burning sulphur and pitch wafted across the ditch.

There were shouts in the courtyard below even before the first casks of fire rained over the side. Then the sky was bright with the macabre beauty of flaming missiles. She heard the first ones hit, followed by the screams of those who ran out to see and were splashed by the burning kegs. In a matter of minutes there were dozens of blazes coming from the roofs of the granaries, the stables, and the tower. Men still befuddled with sleep pulled on mail and poured into the courtyard to defend themselves.

Reyner of Eury, his body outlined by the flames shooting from the tower, lurched through the doorway shouting curses at her. From the trees there came a hail of burning arrows, driving him back inside.

The bridge banged down and those within rushed for it, only to be crushed beneath the horses of those who charged in. Thick, acrid smoke now rose from everything that would burn, and the courtyard was filled with the clash of arms, the cries of the wounded, and the shouts of those who fought.

Elizabeth’s eyes burned and her throat was raw. Gasping for breath, she held her head low to avoid the billowing clouds of soot the wind carried her way. “Please, Father in Heaven, have mercy and love for my husband, my father, and my brother, that they do not perish in this,” she whispered, choking. “Aye, and Willie also—and all the men of Rivaux and Dunashie. Holy Mary, pray for us all.”