Winter Song (59 page)

Very little light diffused upward, but Ernaldus had been so
long in the blackest dark that he could make out something. There was a third
woman—or something—blotting out the faint gleam of Raymond’s mail. She—it—stood
with a hand on Lord Raymond’s arm, yet he seemed completely unaware of it. He
looked—Ernaldus could see the change in shape of the mail hood as Raymond
turned his head—only at the two women in front of him.

Although Margot and Beatrice had been silent as they had
been told, Raymond did not quite trust them. He felt an urgent need to see the
expressions on their faces. If it seemed to him that either girl was near the
limit of her ability to obey him, it would be better to gag her than to have
her screaming as she was lowered. A soft word to one of the men-at-arms and he
brought a stub of candle, flint, and tinder from his pouch. On the way in,
Raymond would not chance a light, but now there was less danger from a stray
reflection being seen than from his overestimating Margot and Beatrice.

The man-at-arms passed the lit candle to Raymond, who held
it up, illuminating not only Margot’s and Beatrice’s faces, but Alys’s also.
Ernaldus screamed behind his gag. The sound was muffled, but he had been nearly
forgotten, and everyone was startled. Then, suddenly, before any of the men
could get at him, he twisted around and thrust himself forward, pushing hard
with his feet against the tunnel wall, squirming, struggling through the
grating.

Raymond bent to grab his feet as Alys gasped, “Ernaldus!”

However, one of the men had jumped forward also, and he and
Raymond collided. Raymond went staggering back, almost knocking Alys off her
feet. They clung together, seeking balance, while the man who had tried to
catch Ernaldus threw himself to the ground and started through the opening
after him.

Because Ernaldus was a much smaller man and not bulked out
with rough ring-sewn armor, he was able to wriggle through. The man behind him
stuck fast at the shoulders, managing no more than a futile grab. He had to be
hauled in to free the opening, and the men pulling on his legs felt his body
suddenly convulse as if he had been injured. They hauled harder, thinking
Ernaldus had somehow managed to strike him, but he was shuddering with shock,
not hurt, when they got him inside.

“My lord,” he whispered, “he went over. With his eyes wide
open, he pushed himself right over the ledge.”

Raymond stared down at his henchman. “Crawled off? Apurpose?”

“Apurpose, I do not know,” the man said, shaking himself as
if to throw off something evil clinging to him. “He looked… I saw his face… My
lord, let us go. There is something evil here. I do not think he crawled off
apurpose. He was afraid, so much afraid that he did not see what his eyes
looked on.”

Raymond shook his head. “No,” he said, “there is nothing
evil here. The evil was in that one’s own heart. What he feared was seeing my
wife, whom he believed was dead by his order. There is nothing for us to fear
but discovery by des Baux’s men.” Then he gestured for another of the men to go
out.

One after another they crawled onto the ledge, Raymond
thrusting Margot and Beatrice out, after four of the men had gone, and sending
Alys out with a gesture just before he went himself. It was far too light for
his liking, but he told himself that he should be thankful the west wall was
more shadowed than any other would have been. Also it seemed a special gift from
God that no one had seen Ernaldus fall and that the gag had kept him from
screaming.

However, in the supposition that no one had seen Ernaldus
fall, Raymond was not quite correct. No one had seen the fall itself, but by a
freak occurrence, the body had struck a subsidiary peak of the fractured rock
and bounced around so that it finally hit the ground not far from the cleft
that had the handholds and footholds. On that side, a guard had noticed the
sudden movement. He did not see motion long, for the dead thing came to rest
beside a brush-covered rock and was hidden. But that made the guard wary. He
scanned the cliffs and was certain nothing moved on them, but the tumbled rock
and brush that lay around their feet was another matter. In the half-light, men
could move and hide in that cover. He watched the base of the cliffs and
listened, cursing the birds that sent up such a tumult of sound at this hour.

The guard had just about given up, believing his eyes had
deceived him, when he saw movement again. He shouted for assistance and
snatched up his crossbow. Several men darted out from concealment at the foot
of the rock and ran zigzagging away from the cliff. The guard sent a bolt after
one, feeling a rich satisfaction in having perceived an attempt to enter Les
Baux by stealth, but not realizing that the forms he shot at were escaping from
the castle, not trying to enter it. His first shot had missed, but he sent
another and shouted in triumph as a man fell. However, he got to his feet at
once and ran on. Two more guards had run from adjoining sections of the wall
and also fired their crossbows.

There were now eight men running away, but three of them
looked very strange, as if they were carrying or sheltering huge rolls of loose
cloth in front of them. All three guards were attracted and fired at the
strange forms. It was not reasonable to hold cloth in front when arrows flew
from behind. One arrow struck. The man staggered and fell, and a thin, shrill
scream—a scream that sounded remarkably like a woman’s—rang out. Two men rushed
toward the fallen one. The three guards shot again, but the vagrant breeze of
the morning made these tries less true, and then their surprise held them from
winding their bows for a few minutes. It was not a bundle of cloth but a woman!
One of the men had snatched her up and held her before him. The other helped
his companion to his feet.

Now other castle men-at-arms were coming onto the walls, but
the running figures were nearly to the woods. A hail of bolts flew outward and
then another. It seemed as if several of the running figures were struck, but
none fell, and they disappeared into the trees. The three guards who had seen
the woman mentioned the fact with surprise, but none of the men who had come
onto the wall had been in on the abduction, nor were they aware that there were
prisoners in the castle. Thus, the tale was not taken seriously, the others
believing that the men had been deceived by the distance and the bad light.
Besides, what could they do? They were besieged and could not send out a troop
to pursue.

In the woods, Alys wrestled herself from her husband’s arms,
crying, “You were hit! You were hit!”

“In the flesh by an arrow half spent,” Raymond snapped. “Do
not act the fool, Alys! Margot, are you hurt?” She was the one whose protector
had fallen on her.

Margot was sobbing, but managed to shake her head. The man
had tripped when the arrow struck him, but he had managed to put his hands out,
and his full weight had not come down upon her.

“Are there any too hurt to ride?” Raymond asked next. And
when he received a chorus of nays, he said sharply, “Alys, what the devil ails
you? For what do you weep? Pull that shaft out of me and then see to the other
men.”

Raymond was in a strange mood, both irritated and elated. He
knew he had accomplished what amounted to a miracle, but he was unreasonably
annoyed because he had not got away scot-free. Something told him that they had
not reached the end of their troubles, and he was in great haste to be gone.
However, he was both right and wrong. There were no immediate calamities. The
horses were where they had been left, and the short ride to the camp was
uneventful. Nor was there any trouble in the camp. Still, the feeling of need
for haste persisted, and Raymond snarled at Margot and Beatrice to hold their
tongues when they wanted to relate their experiences and at Alys when she
begged him to remove his armor so she could tend his wound.

Instead of soothing him, the lack of difficulties nagged at
Raymond. His emotional reaction was to order the full troop to ride back with
him, but his military instincts opposed that feeling. This, if Sir Romeo wished
to take it, was an opportunity to destroy des Baux completely. To achieve that
purpose, however, it was necessary to prevent help from reaching Sir Guillaume.
Once Les Baux was full of men, it would be too hard a nut to crack, and to
starve it out would take a year.

Raymond was certain that Guillaume must have already
summoned his friends and vassals. He was equally certain that few or none of
them had yet arrived, since there had been no extra tents set up in the bailey
and the scouts he had sent out to examine the cliff on all sides reported no
sign of tents on the flat land the keep did not occupy. To prevent assistance
from reaching Les Baux, it was only necessary to block the one road, but that
meant leaving the troop, or most of the troop, where it now was.

With this consideration in mind, Raymond ordered Alys’s
troop to come with him, leaving Sir Romeo’s master-at-arms in charge with
orders to do his uttermost to prevent anyone from entering Les Baux and
promising that help would be sent as soon as he reached Arles. He then insisted
they leave immediately, responding alike to Beatrice’s and Margot’s moans and
laments that they were too bruised and exhausted, and to Alys’s tearful pleas
to bind up his wound, with threats that he would soon give them something real
to weep for if they did not obey him instantly.

The trouble came down behind them as they entered the road
that passed the abbey—a troop of men who cried out imprecations at the sight of
the arms of d’Aix and charged them. Fortunately the road was narrow so that the
larger numbers of the attackers counted for little in the first charge. Then,
by a combination of good fortune and ferocity, Raymond wounded the knight who
was leading the troop. This recalled that gentleman to the fact that his
business was in Les Baux, not in casual encounters on the road, even if d’Aix
happened to be an old enemy. Nursing his bleeding arm, he called off the
attack.

They met more trouble just a mile or so from Arles. A group
of men, either fleeing from the keep or merely leaving it in haste, clashed
with Raymond’s troop. In a way they were more dangerous, although fewer in
number, because there were three knights in the party. However, this time
Raymond did not stay to fight. He bade three men surround each woman’s horse,
spur to a gallop, and charge right through, dealing only such blows as would
not slow their speed. Once they were through there could be no pursuit because
they were too close to Arles.

Strangely enough, with each encounter Raymond’s mood improved,
and by the time they thundered through the entrance of the keep, the only
shadow on Raymond’s bright morning was the question of how to escape the
interminable explanations and discussions he saw forthcoming. He did not—at
least, not at the present moment—wish to explain how he had got into Les Baux,
nor to give any opinion on what, if anything, should be done to punish Beatrice’s
abductor, nor to discuss whether there would be any advantage in destroying the
des Baux.

All Raymond wanted was to get Alys to himself. It had finally
dawned upon him that it was extremely unnatural for Alys to have been involved
in the abduction. Why in the world did she agree to accompany Margot and
Beatrice, and why take only four men? He could not believe Alys had ill intent,
and yet he could think of no rational excuse for what she had done.

This irritation of mind, increased by over twenty-four hours
without sleep and the nagging pain of the minor flesh wound, expressed itself
in anger with his sister and Beatrice. Thus, he seized them both immediately
upon dismounting and, dragging each by a wrist, entered the great hall. News of
his arrival and of Beatrice’s presence having preceded them, Sir Romeo, Lady
Beatrice, and even Lady Jeannette were already running from their chambers,
calling questions and making joyful exclamations. Raymond flung his two
shrieking captives, one at each mother.

“Here, have them back,” he roared, “and if you are wise, you
will lesson them with a belt for this mischief.”

“How? How?” Sir Romeo’s bellow rose above the high voices of
the women and the wailing of the two girls.

“I will tell you betimes,” Raymond said, “but there is no
time for it now. Des Baux has summoned men, and troops are already on their
way. I bade your master-at-arms keep them from entering the keep, but he has
only some forty men. Either recall him or send him help.”

“Let me first thank you,” Sir Romeo cried.

But Raymond was not interested in thanks. He turned to look
behind him, and his lips twitched to refrain from smiling when he saw Alys
standing meekly a few feet back as a good wife should. She was filthy and
bedraggled, and her eyes lowered when he looked at her. Oddly, that convinced
Raymond of her innocence. If Alys had been involved in whatever caused the
abduction, she would be defiant. Ignoring his mother’s shriek and Sir Romeo’s
oath when his bloodstained back became visible to them, Raymond took two steps
and seized Alys’s wrist.

“If you wish to thank me,” he said, “let it be with a
private chamber where I may deal with my wife.”

Alys bit her lips to keep from crying aloud when she heard.
She had descended to a pit of despair from a peak of joy when she first
realized it was Raymond on the ladder. From the way he had greeted her and the
belief that he had come to Arles in response to her request, she had been sure that
all was forgiven. But he had not addressed a word to her after that, except to
deny her the right to serve him. And when he had seized Margot and Beatrice and
left her behind as they entered Arles, Alys had thought she would die. She had
followed because she knew not what else to do.

Now, when he seized her wrist so unkindly, Alys had all she
could do not to wail aloud like Beatrice and Margot. She was too blinded by
tears to see Raymond’s face when he slammed the door closed with his heel, so
that she was totally surprised to find herself suddenly enveloped in her
husband’s embrace with passionate kisses being pressed on her lips and cheeks
and eyes.