Shadows and Strongholds (56 page)

'Never did like that song,' Ernalt said. Leaving the body to its death throes, he led the others down into the tower. A swift glance at the women's chamber showed him a closed door and a soldier standing guard outside it. 'No trouble, my lord,' he said with a smile. 'One old crone came at us with her distaff, but we dealt with her.'

'Remember what I told you,' Ernalt warned, wagging a forefinger. 'No harm is to come to Marion de la Bruere.'

'Yes, sir.'

Ernalt gave a terse nod and moved on. There was still much to do before Ludlow was theirs.

Ernalt's men crept along the walkway leading from the Pendover tower and behind the chapel. Another guard was silenced and dispatched. In the tower near the gate, the off-duty men were playing dice and supping wine. They knew nothing until the intruders emerged like shadows darker than the darkness and set upon them.

Throughout the castle it was the same. Each tower was invaded and its occupants, if they were male and of fighting age, put to the sword. The women other than those in the bower were herded into one of the barns in the bailey and guards set over them. Reddened blade in hand, Ernalt ran to the postern gate by the river entrance. Here, a few of the garrison were putting up a fight, but they were outnumbered and too stunned to be efficient, it did not take long to overpower and kill them, even those who cried for mercy.

As the last man fell, Ernalt gestured two of his soldiers to unbar the gate and open it for Gilbert de Lacy's men, waiting in the woods over Whitcliffe.

In the bower, Marion stared at the body of Dame Aude. As de Lacy's soldiers had burst in, Aude had begun screaming at the full pitch of her lungs. A mailed serjeant had moved to silence her and the foolish old woman had attacked him with her distaff, brandishing it as if it were a spear. The soldier had ducked in surprise at the assault, and then he had laughed, straightened and struck Aude a blow to the side of the head that had felled her like a Martinmas sow. Her heels had drummed on the rushes; blood had run from her nose and her right ear. The soldier had bellowed at the others to stay where they were and not cause any trouble.

'And do not think I'd stay my hand for any of you!' he had snarled. 'You'll not be harmed if you stay put. Try anything and you'll realise how easy her death was. You'll be dealt with by my lord Gilbert when he has the time for you.' With a final glare of warning at the women he had stalked out, banging the door hard shut behind him.

Jehane, a maid who was Dame Aude's particular friend, knelt by Aude's body 'She's dead.' she said in an appalled whisper.

Marion rubbed her hands together. They were slick with cold sweat. Ernalt's gold ring shone on her heart finger, giving her courage. 'She shouldn't have challenged them,' she said in a quavering voice.

Jehane gave her a hard look and fetched a blanket to cover Aude's body.

A young black-haired maid had opened the shutters and was peering out. 'God save us!' she cried and made the sign of the Cross on her breast.

Marion hastened to the window and, pushing the girl aside, stared at the shadowy men weaving among the buildings. They were not being as circumspect now, for some carried torches. The sound of steel striking steel hit the night and she saw a shiver of white sparks in the bailey as a garrison serjeant fought for his life and lost it. 'Gilbert de Lacy has come for Ludlow,' she said in an expressionless voice.

'What? How could that happen?' Jehane demanded.

Marion did not answer. From the direction of the castle gates a tremendous cheer rolled through the night. Moments later the bailey was ablaze with scores of torches. Someone had set a store shed on fire and flames leaped skywards. Billows of thick grey smoke churned towards the shutters. Screams, shouts and pleas for mercy sparked in the choking grey coils. Marion slammed the shutters fast and went to sit on a bench away from the other women. Ernalt had come to claim her, that was all that mattered.

It seemed that she sat there for a long, long time, rocking gently back and forth, rubbing the bright ring he had given her, waiting for him. The candles burned down but after what had happened to Aude, no one was brave enough to venture out and fetch new ones, or visit the well to replenish flagons and ewers. Nor did anyone sleep. The other maids knelt around Aude's body to keep vigil and pray, even though they had but two candles between them. Listening to their chant, Marion muttered a prayer of her own, but it was not for Aude's soul.

Shortly before dawn, Marion heard voices outside the chamber, muffled by the thick oak. Moments later the door opened and Ernalt entered bearing a torch.

'Come,' he said to her and held out his hand.

She had intended to go to him with dignity and grace, but his extended fingers were a lifeline and as she passed Aude's body she broke into a run. He gripped her hand in his and pulled her to his side, away from the torch. The resinous flame illuminated a smear of blood on his face and a long, beaded scratch near his eye corner.

His mouth curled with dark humour as he studied the women. 'Ladies, the castle is now in the possession of its rightful lord, Gilbert de Lacy. His banner flies from the battlements and his men garrison the walls. Those who owe service and allegiance to Sybilla Talbot have leave to depart at dawn. Those who wish to remain and serve Lord Gilbert and his lady may do so.'

The women stared at him in horrified silence. Someone whimpered and stifled the sound against the back of a wrist. Then Dame Jehane summoned sufficient boldness to speak. 'What of this lady? She should have a decent burial and the coward who murdered her should be brought to account… or have you no shame?'

'The burial she shall have,' Ernalt said, 'and you need not fear that she will be lonely in her grave. You would do well to guard your tongue lest you join her. You are not dealing with a softsword like de Dinan any more.'

She whitened and looked down, her courage spent, and he left the room, pulling Marion with him. 'If you have a fancy to any of them, take your pick,' he told the guard, 'but don't tell Lord Gilbert I said so. You know the kind of notions he entertains. The black-haired one looks as if she'll give you a wild ride and the one in the green dress has a mouth on her that you might want to use.'

The soldier smacked his lips and grinned.

'Where are we going?' Marion demanded as he led her down the winding stair. She hadn't liked that exchange with the guard about the other women.

'To our chamber, where else?' He brought her out into the bailey. The smell of smoke was much stronger here and several of the timber utility buildings were on fire. Her past life was in flames.

'Why?' she demanded, feeling sick with guilt and fear and remorse. Through their linked arms, she felt Ernalt shrug.

'It's a cleansing fire,' he said. 'Those sheds were rotten anyway and there was nothing of value inside them. The men like to see fire… helps them to burn out their wildness.'

Marion shuddered. To her the fire wasn't cleansing. She could feel its heat branding the stain of her treachery into her soul. Hell could be no worse.

He led her across the grassy area beside the well, a common gossiping place for the women. Her eyes were drawn to the rows of corpses and the dark torchlit puddles of blood on the grass. The youth who chopped the wood for the kitchens stared sightlessly at her, a jagged wound gaping in his throat. Beside him lay Rhys, the half-Welsh soldier who had carried her on his shoulders when she was a small child and given her honeycomb and told her stories. The top of his head was black and jellied. Hot fluid rose in her throat and she had to stop to retch.

'It is the nature of warfare,' Email said impatiently. 'Think yourself fortunate that you're on the victorious side. If you don't like it, don't look.'

An orange glow filled the sky and within the smoke there was a choking stench. 'You've fired the town!' she cried in horror. Her mouth tasted sour and her throat was stinging.

'I told you, the men need it to cleanse themselves, especially the mercenaries, and those burghers need teaching a lesson. The rightful master of Ludlow has returned and he'll not brook supporters of de Dinan in either town or castle.' His tone grew impatient. 'As I said, think yourself fortunate, sweetheart. You're with the conquerors.'

The way he said 'sweetheart' sent a flash of terror through her, for he sounded like a common soldier talking to his whore, but she had no time to brood on the matter, for he was drawing her up the stairs by the hard grip of his hand, opening a door and ushering her inside the chamber that belonged to Brunin and Hawise. When she hung back on the threshold, he pulled her inside, and shut the door with a well-aimed kick. Someone had lit candles in the wall niches and on the pricket by the bed.

'Lord Gilbert has taken de Dinan's chamber for his own, but this one is almost as fine,' he said. 'We'll be merry here for what's left of the night and you can stay here on the morrow… Indeed, it might be for the best.' He gestured towards a flagon and cups standing on a coffer. 'Pour wine, will you?'

Marion did as he bid, although her throat was so tight that she knew she would be unable to swallow. When she turned with the cups, he was seated on the bed, watching her through heavy lids. He held out his hand for the wine and she saw that his fingernails were darkly rimmed with blood—like those of the butchers in Ludlow's shambles. Except that the shambles probably didn't exist any more and the blood was not that of an ox or sheep.

He saw the direction of her stare and smiled. 'A warrior's ointment,' he said, 'but if it displeases you I'll wash it off. I've known women who like to be fucked by a man hot and fresh off the battlefield… but you're not one of them, eh?' He reached for her and she evaded him with a small gasp. Her wine slopped over the rim of her cup and splashed her gown with red.

'Or perhaps you like to play games?' His eyes narrowed lustfully.

'I don't want to play any g-games,' Marion said, her voice tight with panic. 'You said I would be your true love and chatelaine of Ludlow.'

'And you are.' He spread his hands. 'I came for you, did I not? We have a finely appointed chamber to ourselves. Have I ill-treated you?'

Her hands were shaking. 'N-no, but you are not the same as you were.'

'Neither are you, sweeting.' He went to another flagon standing on the coffer and tilted water from its lip into a bronze bowl. 'I will wash my hands until they are as lily white as your own,' he said. 'Blood doesn't always show up though, does it?'

'There's some on your face too…' she said unsteadily and tried not to think of what he meant.

'Then wipe it off for me.' He splashed his face with a handful of water and tilted his head towards her. 'Any lady would do that for her love. Use your sleeve,' he said.

Feeling nauseated, she raised her arm and dabbed his cheek with her cuff. He caught her wrist and pulled her against him. 'Come,' he muttered. 'I will teach you a game you'll like.'

'I no I…'

'How do you know until you've tried it?'

But we are not wed. It would be a sin! Fear flooded her limbs. The glance she cast towards the door gave her away for he swung her round so that he was between it and her.

He laughed. 'You are worried about sinning after what you have done?'

'I… I did it for you.'

'Then you will not balk at whatever else I ask.'

'But we should be pledged.' She looked up into his face. There was no softness in his expression. His grip on her was tight, almost but not quite painful. The bed loomed in her side vision.

He unpinned her veil and let it drop to the floor. 'Sweeting, I would take you before a priest this very night, but they are all too busy ministering to the dead and the dying. I know this is important to you, but those in extremity must come first. It will not matter for a night and a day'

'Then surely it is worth waiting until we have made our vows before witnesses.' She twitched nervously in his embrace. When a man removed a woman's head covering, it signified his right as a husband, but she also knew that it was a symbol of a woman stripped of her respectability.

He gave a sigh in which there was irritation. 'I'm not a patient man, sweetheart. Strike while the iron is hot is what I say… and my iron's hotter than the heart of a forge. I'll quench it now and pay in the morning.'

Those were not the words Marion wanted to hear. Where was the gentleness? Where was the worship and the gratitude? 'No,' she said in a trembling voice, but her protest was smothered as his mouth came down on hers and it was indeed as hot as a brand. His angled cheek sealed off her nose and she couldn't breathe. His tongue roved her mouth. Suffocating, she beat at him with clenched fists until he pulled back and she was able to take a great gulp of air, her eyes wide with shock and springing with tears.

'Frightened?' He unlatched his belt and let it slide to the floor. 'There's no need to be. If you scream it'll be with pleasure.' He gestured. 'Take off your gown. It would be a pity to ruin it.'

'I am virgin still,' she said in a shaking voice.

'I'll make allowances. Alter tonight it won't be an obstacle.'

'I… I don't want to. I want to see Lord Gilbert.'

'Too late.' He shrugged out of his hauberk. 'If you go out of that door, what do you think will happen to you? The men are still half wild and, like it or not, you're a spoil of war. Whatever your claim to high birth, when all is said and done you are a maid of the chamber and fair game to be passed from soldier to soldier. You need my protection.' He stood straight, his hair ruffled from the removal of the mail shirt. 'You have my ring, you have my brooch; soon you'll have my seed. Those are pledges enough. It's too late to have second thoughts about becoming a nun.'

Marion began to sob. Ernalt tugged off his tunic and the smell of his battle sweat reeked in the air. He unlaced her gown, his fingers hard and deft, and dragged the garment over her head. Her chemise followed, leaving her naked to his stare, save for her hose and shoes. His eyes raked her from head to toe, but lingered at the juncture of her thighs. As fair as your hair,' he said. 'I have a fancy to be a coney in your cornfield.'