The Dragon of Handale (30 page)

“It can only be arms,” said Ulf.

Hamo spoke up. “If it is, isn’t it likely he’s hoping to sell them to this earl of Northumberland?”

It was Hildegard’s fear, too. But it was an assumption only and they had to take a risk. So far, too much depended on guesswork.

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Ulf had been all for marching in and demanding to have the door opened. “They’ll respect a sword.” He grimaced, touching the one on his belt. She knew he would not be so foolhardy and so willing to court certain failure. It needed something more subtle, and he knew it.

“What happens in the feast hall at night? Is there entertainment?”

He nodded. “Last night we could hear them out here. The monks at Whitby could no doubt hear them, too.”

“It should be just as noisy tonight if Morcar has the intention of getting married tomorrow. He’ll be celebrating, surely?”

Ulf twisted his lips in a humourless smile. “On his knees praying to find a way out, if he’s any sense. But yes, you’re right. It should be quite a night. Can you work your charm on the guards again and get us all inside while they’re enjoying themselves?”

While they waited for night to fall, they split up. The intention was to find out what they could about Earl Morcar. He was new to all of them. They soon discovered the reason. His land was far up in the border country. Because of the continual war of attrition between the Scots and the English, he had lost his castle, regained it, lost it again, and then had his lands laid waste. He had taken it as a sign to get out and move south. The earl of Northumberland, who was his liege lord, had been unable or unwilling to find any other holding for him.

A rumour, corroborated by Matt in conversation with a couple of the earl’s servants over several stoups of ale, was that he was a ruined man and was desperate to find a way of living in the manner he believed was his by right.

“Not that we minded his running arms across the border, but he’s not going to be doing that down here, so where are we going to bed down? On the move from one man’s kitchen to the next, the pauper guest and his retinue. It’s degrading to us. But where can we go? What can we do with a landless lord?” The servants became ever more resentful at the ill fruits of their devotion the more they explained the situation to the mason.

Matt came back saying he was pleased he was his own man and had a trade that would always be needed.

“Did they give a clue about his bride?” asked Hildegard.

“Closed as oysters the moment I mentioned her.”

“I wonder if she’s arrived yet. Maybe she’s travelling with Northumberland.”

“Not our concern,” remarked Ulf. “If he’s dealing in arms, then this convocation here will be a convenient place to find a buyer. We know Northumberland is supplying his fletchers. Maybe this Morcar hopes to get a jump ahead of the earl with other armaments.” He scowled.

“What is it?” asked Hildegard.

“Does it mean they’re arming for King Richard? Or for his enemies?”

Snow was falling heavily again. It was what was causing Northumberland’s delay. A rider managed to get through with the news that the cavalcade, having already set out from Alnwick Castle, was caught in a blizzard. Until the road was cleared in front of them, they intended to bed down along the route. No one was to leave Kilton before they arrived.

The fact that they had official news of the delay meant that as there was nothing to do but wait, they might as well enjoy themselves. It brought a festive mood to those trapped by the weather in a castle that was not their own.

The kitcheners were working over time to feed everybody. Pippin attended Ulf now and then, always with his hands wrapped round a pasty or a hunk of cheese. Barrels of ale were rolled out into the outer court and wine casks were untapped for those fortunate enough to be lodged in the inner court.

Cressets flamed in every sconce. Music echoed within the walls. Servants threw snowballs at each other. They danced a farandole.

It was late by the time Hildegard made her approach to the guards at the inner gate. Even though their captain reminded Hildegard of his promise to give her a good time, he, like his subordinates, was too reeling drunk to have made good any promise in that line, and the presence of her three strapping escorts—Morcar’s men, she affirmed—was enough to make them wave them all through with much ribaldry.

The four of them crossed the yard. Snow was falling in big fat flakes.

The feast hall was echoing to the rafters as they passed. Hildegard looked inside. Morcar and his men were there all right. Light spilled out across the snow and made the twirling flakes look like little moons.

“I could take a chance and go and search for Petronel,” remarked Ulf with a longing glance towards the stables.

“Later,” Hildegard told him. “Let’s solve one problem at a time. We may not get another chance like this. I know it may be nothing. The stash of feathers for the war arrows may be the most of it. At least let’s find out.”

“Did much gold change hands?” asked Hamo.

“So we imagine.”

He exchanged a look with Matt that Hildegard noticed but could not decipher.

Her misgivings returned. She had often felt doubtful about the masons in the past. They were clannish. As was to be expected from a guild as important as theirs, they had their secrets, with severe penalties for anyone who betrayed them. Their secrecy made them notorious in some circles. It was said they were like a realm within the realm, with no law but their own and answerable to no one but the Grand Master.

At present there was little choice but to accept them at face value. After all, it was Giles’s killer they hoped to apprehend, and Morcar and his secret dealings with Fulke seemed to hold a key to his death.

Ulf threw a few coins to the pages who were sleepily sitting on the steps, wrapped in their little cloaks. “Now then, young gentlemen,” he said, affable in the way he knew well how to be. “We’re here on important business on behalf of your master. Let us pass, like good fellows.”

The two moved over and Ulf led the way inside.

“You and Hamo keep the steward busy if he’s still around,” whispered Hildegard to Matt, who was following closely at her heels.

Morcar’s servants were out celebrating like everybody else. The apartment was empty except for an old woman asleep in a chair. They continued up to the next level.

“This is the door.” Hildegard indicated the one opposite the earl’s bedchamber.

Ulf took out a long, sharp-pointed knife. “Keep a lookout, you two,” he said to the masons as he set to work.

It took a while. Hildegard was on tenterhooks lest someone should hear them and come up to investigate.

At last, the lock softly turned. Ulf put his hand on the door ring. “I’ll go in first, just in case they’ve set a guard on the stuff.”

They waited a moment until he reappeared. His expression was impossible to read. “Hildegard, you’d better step inside. Lads, keep watch.”

Hildegard slipped through the half-open door, then came to a sudden halt. By the light of a single cresset, she saw a bed taking up most of the space in the small chamber. On it lay a girl. She appeared to be sleeping.

Hildegard glanced round. Not sure what she had expected—piles of bales as before, maybe sacks of body armour, or cases of steel weapons—she was confused.

She went over to have a closer look at the girl. “Do we have more light?” she whispered to Ulf.

He fumbled with tinder and a taper. The gold brilliance enveloped the sleeping form.

“She’s beautiful,” muttered Ulf. “Is this his betrothed?”

Hildegard was peering intently at the girl. When she did not stir, Hildegard reached forward and lifted one of her eyelids. She did not flinch. When Hildegard turned to Ulf, her expression was one of alarm.

Ulf understood at once.

“Drugged?”

“Is this how he intends to marry her?”

“But who is she? What is she?”

“We need not rack our brains to answer that one. She must be an heiress of some importance. Fulke up to his tricks. Morcar intent on ensuring his future.”

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“If we do carry her outside, we’ll surely be seen,” muttered Ulf. He glanced back at the girl. “But we can’t leave her here.” He was talking to himself.

“Remember how Morcar carried her in a cloak out of the tower? Stupidly, we thought it was war goods.”

“Are we sure about this, Hildegard? Is this what his purchase from Fulke amounts to? What if we’re making a mistake? We’ll pay a hefty penalty for abduction. Can’t we just stop the ceremony tomorrow if it seems to be going the wrong way?”

She reminded him of what Alys had told them. “This is a bigger prize than merely selling girls on to the town whoremasters.” She looked down at the girl again. “I wish she’d regain consciousness; then we could ask her where the marriage is to take place. If it’s in the private chapel here, we’d never be allowed in. No, she said decisively. “We’ve got to take the risk. We must get her out.”

“It may be aboveboard,” he muttered doubtfully. “Maybe she takes regular sleeping draughts. Maybe Morcar was smuggling something quite different out of the tower in the bundle we saw.” He spread his arms helplessly. “Don’t you have anything with you to bring her round?”

Hildegard was still wearing her scrip on her belt. “I wonder if—maybe…” She went over to the cresset and by its light opened up her leather bag of cures and searched through it. “I can do nothing without water,” she concluded.

“Let’s send Matt to the kitchen.”

“He’ll never manage to get back without arousing notice.”

“He has to.”

Ulf went to the door and invited the two men inside. “Drugged,” he told them. “We need water.”

“I’ll go,” Matt replied at once.

Hildegard exclaimed, “No, don’t bother! Look, just reach out to catch some snow. I can melt that in the palm of my hand and mix it with something I’ve got here. I just need to make a paste with it.”

They clustered round when Hildegard was ready. She tried once more to wake the girl by shaking her, but when that failed and she merely moaned and turned over, Hildegard slipped her arm under, the girl’s head and lifted her so that she could wet her lips with the concoction she had made up. The girl gave a shudder.

Slowly, her eye lids began to flutter. “No—” She put out a hand to ward something off. As she regained consciousness, she began to lash out with both fists, screaming, “No! Don’t—” Her breath became frantic and she struggled with an imaginary assailant until Hildegard, speaking as soothingly as she could, reassured her that she was with friends.

The girl opened her eyes and gazed round in confusion. They saw the film begin to clear from them. When she saw four strangers staring down at her, she put her hand to her mouth in fear. “Don’t hurt me!” She cowered back against the pile of silk pillows strewn across the bed.

Hildegard leaned forward. “Do you know where you are?”

“I am lost. I am lost forever. No one will ever find me.”

“You’re at a place called Kilton Castle. Do you know it?”

The girl shook her head.

“Do you know your name?”

“I’m—” She shook her head again, but this time in puzzlement. “My name, my real name, is Isabella. I live at Bowden Castle.”

It meant nothing to any of them.

“Is it in the border country?” Hildegard asked gently.

She nodded and her pupils dilated. “So much bloodshed. The horror! My dear father—” Her eyes filled.

In a sudden movement, she slipped of the bed and ran towards the door. Ulf reached out and caught her. She cowered in his arms. Terror made her open her mouth, but something forced the scream to remain silent. Ulf released her and she backed across the chamber until she felt the wall behind her, then she slowly sank to the floor.

Hildegard said in a commonsense tone, “We’re not here to harm you. We’re here to help. We believe you’ve been abducted and Earl Morcar intends to take you as his wife. Is that so?”

The girl nodded. Sobs began to rake through her. “He’s a monster.” Her glance swept from side to side. “Where is he? Is he coming back? Don’t let him take me—”

“We have to get her out of here,” said Ulf decisively.

Matt took off his cloak. “Wrap her in this. Let’s get out as quickly as we can.”

He was too late. Before he could put the cloak round the girl’s shoulders, a sound at the door made them all turn.

A short, fortyish, black-bearded man in an elaborate velvet capuchon sauntered in through the open door. He was smiling in triumph. “So what have we here? Four hanged persons and a ravished wife?”

His self-confidence came from the armed men in chain mail, wearing his colours, who followed him in. They had already drawn their swords.

The first man stepped forward with a pugilistic swagger. It turned to hesitation when Ulf drew his sword so quickly, it was no more than a blur of light.

“C’mon, fella, test my mettle!” called Ulf, beckoning with his left hand. Ignoring the other three men crowding into the chamber, Ulf lunged at the soldier, flicked his sword from his grasp, and gave a flashing smile. “Next?”

Needing no further invitation, the three men piled towards Ulf. Hildegard look over at Hamo. She had already noticed his legs, muscular from working the windlass. Now he put them to magnificent use. Jumping up to grasp the rafter above his head, he swung forward and aimed both heels hard into the chest of the nearest attacker.

The man fell back, winded, cannoning into the man behind him. Before they could recover, Ulf had disarmed the fourth and Matt, gaping for a moment, pulled his wits together and drew a lethal-looking stiletto from his belt, threw his cloak over Morcar’s head, and dragged him deeper into the chamber.

“Anybody make a move and your lord gets it in the neck!” he snarled, then added, “C’mon. Give me the pleasure!”