Dragon Tree (17 page)

Amie glanced
down. She and Marak had wasted no time to trade the woolen blanket
for a proper cloak. The rather flimsy cloth of her nightrail barely
reached her ankles, but in her haste, the lacing around the neck
had come loose and the edges were parted in a deep vee down her
throat. Her hair was fanned out around her shoulders in thick waves
that almost matched the color of the two warm spots on her
cheeks.

“The men
outside the gates,” she said, her breath rasping in her throat.
“They have come for something and will not leave without it.”

The knight
held her gaze for a full count of three. “Explain. You know who
they are?”

Amie returned
his stare steadfastly. “The one wearing green with the red boar on
his chest is Odo de Langois and beside him, on his right hand, sits
his brother Rolf.”

“How do you
know them?”

The faintest
hint of a tremor shivered on Amaranth’s lips. “Odo de Langois is my
husband. He has been hunting me these past four weeks and more. May
God forgive me, but it is because of me the village was attacked,
and because of me the peasants were slaughtered.”

Tamberlane was
silent for so long, Amie could actually feel the blood chilling,
thickening, and being pushed sluggishly through her veins.

“Why did you
not tell me this before now?”

Amie searched
for an explanation that would sound even somewhat reasonable, but
in the end, she remembered Marak's earlier warning and simply told
him the truth. "I was afraid of what you might do. I was afraid you
might be bound by law to return me to him."

The ominously
dark green eyes flicked sharply to Marak. “You knew about
this?”

The robed
shoulders gave a shrug. “I knew there were lashmarks and scars on
the girl’s back from the brutality she has endured. I knew she was
frightened beyond measure yet had she the strength to do so, she
would have left here the instant she could stand in order to spare
you any further inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience? Is that what you call this?”

“Verily,”
Marak said through a sardonic twist of his lips. “For we are
ill-equipped to hold off a siege by six men.”

Tamberlane’s
eyes narrowed. “Look you again, Saracen, how the loaves have
divided and the fishes have multiplied.”

Marak stepped
to the top of the parapet and looked through the square stone
teeth. Lined up along the verge of the woods, forming a wide
semi-circle behind the six knights, were a score or more of men at
arms, most carrying crossbows, all wearing mail and breast armor of
molded bullhide. While their weapons were not strung or quarrelled,
the threat was implied, for the line they formed enclosed the
quiet, sleepy village in such a way as none could have escaped.

“His intent is
to use the villagers as hostages,” Marak murmured thoughtfully.

Amaranth’s
lashes shuddered as she closed her eyes. “I would have no more
deaths of innocents on my shoulders, my lord. I could not bear
it.”

“Then it is
just as well we had the foresight to bring all of the tenants
inside the castle walls.”

Amaranth was
slow to open her eyes, even slower to raise them and focus on the
handsome face.

“Two days
hence,” Tamberlane said matter-of-factly. “Since I first had men
watching your husband’s encampment. And although I was
half-convinced he was someone else, here for another purpose, I
anticipated his coming to Taniere sooner or later, and only a fool
leaves his sheep untended when he knows there are wolves in the
woods.”

The knight
brushed past Amaranth and hastened down the steps. She stood there
a moment, swaying as a rush of light-headedness swept through her.
But when Marak turned to follow, she gathered her wits again and
stayed upon his heels, the hem of her gown snagging on the rough
stone steps behind her as she descended. She followed both men into
the shadow of the barbican, where Roland was waiting to buckle
Tamberlane into a hauberk of polished iron links.

Her voice,
strained to the point of cracking, came out barely above a whisper.
“I am grateful for all you have done for me, my lord, but I do not
want to jeopardize the peace or safety of your holding. Odo de
Langois is without conscience or mercy. He will not stop until he
gets what he has come for even if it means killing every man woman
and child within these walls.”

“He must
consider you a prize of great value.” Ciaran lowered his arms and
adjusted the weight of the heavy mail tunic on his shoulders.

"He considers
me his property, bought and paid for, nothing more."

Tamberlane
made a long, measured study of her face, her hair, even the
gathered folds of the blanket where she clutched them so tightly in
trembling hands. “And so... what would you have me do?”

“The only
thing you can do to spare yourself further trouble, my lord. Return
me to him.”

The words,
ragged with fear but strengthened by courage, cut through
Tamberlane’s anger like a knife. Had she pleaded for his help, wept
her excuses, thrown herself at his feet and begged his mercy he
might have done just that—returned her to her husband and god’s
riddance to her. He knew full well the law of the land. He knew he
had no jurisdiction over another man’s wife and indeed, could be
held to account for her presence at Taniere. Equally so, if Odo de
Langois knew Tamberlane had provided sanctuary, he could attack the
castle with impunity.

“How long has
he been your husband?”

“H-how long?
Ten months, my lord.”

He nodded to
Roland to bring his helm. "Are you with child?"

Amie's jaw
dropped. "No. By God's good graces, no, He has spared me that
indignity at least. Were it so, I would have bashed my own head
with a candlestick."

He continued
to study her face while he brusquely fastened the pennyplate camail
of small metal links across his throat, and his gaze chose some
small detail to focus upon while he considered his options—in this
instance, a tiny white scar at the corner of her mouth. With
unaccustomed distraction, he wondered how it had come to be there
and why he had not noticed its presence before now.

He looked up
into her eyes again. “You struck him with a candlestick?”

“Yes, my lord.
As hard as I could.”

“The marks on
your back and flanks... how did you get them?”

Amie’s eyes
burned with shame, but she did not look down or away. “Odo de
Langois enjoys inflicting pain. He used a whip as a way to break me
of the habit of biting him."

Tamberlane
stretched out his arm and Roland was quick to smack the hilt of a
sword into the gloved hand. "And did it work as a deterrent?"

"No, my lord,"
she answered calmly. "It only made me bite harder the next
time."

Ciaran studied
the blade a moment, his keen eyes gauging the sharpness of the edge
before flickering over to Amie again. “If I were to give you back,
would you run away again?”

“No my lord. I
expect I would be rendered unable to run anywhere ever again."

Marak stepped
forward as if to speak but Tamberlane held up a hand, the palm
flat, the look in his eyes gone well beyond a mere warning.

“I will hear
the whole tale before the day is through. For now, there are
hunters in my woods and I have not granted them permission to
trespass.”

The surcoat
that went over his mail hauberk was deep hunter green with no
markings. The hilt of his sword lacked ornamentation of any kind,
yet the blade was exquisitely wrought of the finest Damascene
steel, and of such a length as to suggest it had been specially
made for his taller frame.

He tucked a
misericorde into the span of his belt and for one wild, panicked
moment, Amie thought it would be an easy matter to reach out, take
the knife, and draw it across her wrists to end it once and for
all. How many times had the thought entered her mind before? Each
and every day for the past ten months, at the least. God would
surely forgive her. Regardless if Canon Law decreed that she be
buried unshriven, God would forgive her. He could not possibly
expect her to walk calmly back into her husband’s clutches to
endure whatever manner of agonizing death awaited her there.

Hesitation
cost her dearly, for before she could act on the thought,
Tamberlane’s enormous piebald stallion was led up from the stables.
Behind came three other knights, their mail glinting in the early
morning light, helms pushed low over their brows, their visages
concealed by the wide iron nasals. Each wore swords and had their
shields slung over their shoulders in a subtle show of strength.
There were more knights beginning to line the parapets as well, and
dispersed among them, several foresters who held their bows in
plain sight.

“Leave the
gates open behind us,” Tamberlane ordered. “But have men standing
by the windlass, and if I give the signal, be ready to drop the
teeth of the portcullis.”

“What are you
going to do?” Marak asked.

Before
answering, Tamberlane climbed the low wooden platform used to aid a
knight, burdened under extra pounds of armor, in mounting a
horse.

“I am going to
go and see who stares so rudely at my walls.”

“Is that
wise?”

“Likely not as
wise as it would be for you take the girl into the shadows with
you. Her wits may be shaken, but her head is clear enough to know
that if she is seen, I will be obliged to admit her presence.”

He wheeled the
piebald around. With the wolfhounds trotting on ahead and Roland
and the three knights riding in his wake, he passed between the
enormous barbican towers and rode across the draw.

Amie stood as
still as stone listening to the horses hooves cross the wooden
planks.

“I warrant any
suggestion to return to the keep would be met with refusal?" Marak
asked.

Amie said
nothing as she looked up at the hooded face.

“I thought as
much. Very well, come with me. But at the first sign of trouble,
you will do exactly as I instruct... agreed?”

“Agreed.”

A soft,
dubious grunt acknowledged her promise. Marak tipped his head to
indicate that she should follow him through the small portal at the
base of the closest barbican tower.

The square
structure had been built for the main purpose of protecting the
castle’s entrance from direct attack. With walls over four feet
thick, the towers were comprised of three defensive landings
connected by a narrow block staircase. Each landing had several
arrow slits that gave defenders an excellent vantage and ample room
to draw a bow, but presented nearly impossible targets for anyone
firing from shore.

What little
light these meurtriers admitted was washed gray by the depth of the
wall and by the lacy veil of ivy that grew up the outer face of the
stone. The uppermost landing was further shaded by the
machicolations—murder holes—that jutted out from the roof above
through which boiling water, pitch, or burning faggots could be
thrown down upon the heads of attackers.

The light was
muted enough it allowed Marak to slide the thick wool of his hood
back, and to let Amie step up to one of the arrow slits and watch
the proceedings without fear of being seen.

~~

Tamberlane
crossed the draw and led his small group at a dignified
clip-clop
toward the waiting party of knights. Odo de
Langois had wheeled his steed about and was watching their approach
with undisguised interest. Glittering dark eyes showed on either
side of his nasal as he noted their armor and weapons.

Tamberlane
rode close enough for a hail then stopped.

“I would know
who it is who comes bearing arms to threaten a peaceful
village.”

“Threaten?”
Odo’s chin came up. “I have made no threat, good my lord. I come in
peace, I assure you.”

“What manner
of peaceful business brings you to Taniere Castle with knights and
bowmen standing at the ready?”

“These are
dangerous woods," Odo said blithely. "We have heard of outlaws who
build their nests in the trees and stop a traveller with arrows
rather than questions.”

“These are
dangerous times." Ciaran countered. "The tax men bleed the peasants
dry and if there are outlaws in the trees, it is because they have
no other place to live.”

“The taxes
have gone toward the ransoming of our king, held like a common
prisoner by the Holy Roman Emperor. You grudge the Prince Regent
his right to save his brother, our liege and king?”

“I grudge him
nothing, except when my land is attacked without provocation."

De Langois’
eyes narrowed. “Aye, we did pass a vill that looked charred from a
recent encounter. But I am not come from Prince John. Nor do I have
a taste for blood or burnings this fine day. Rather, I go about my
own business and come only to appeal to your hospitality, Lord
Tamberlane, and to perhaps beg a hot meal for myself and my
men.”

“Your own
business?”

“A personal
matter of some delicacy, more easily discussed over a stoup of
ale.” He saw Tamberlane's gaze slant across to the silent ring of
crossbowmen again and he added with a faint smile, “My men will
remain on shore, naturally. They would only beg your leave to build
cooking fires and draw water from your lake.”

“The water is
free and plentiful,” Tamberlane said. “They may draw their fill. As
for you and your knightly companions, our fare is plain and our
accommodations humble, but I offer them freely.”

“A crust and a
jacket of ale will suffice,” de Langois said expansively. “Though I
must say it surprises me to hear that the Dragonslayer of Hattin
lives within such modest means.”

“I have modest
needs, my lord...?”

“Apologies for
my poor manners. Odo de Langois. My holding is Belmane, half a
hundred miles to the north. On my right stands my brother Rolf, on
the left, our cousin Sigurd.”