Royal Dynasty: Fire Song Part 19

Thus, she said with spurious calm, "What is your name?" and when he had told her Oswald, she continued, "Very well, Oswald, go down and tell all the Englishmen in the inn to arm themselves and make sure they cannot be overpowered by the servants. Be quiet about it. Do not offer any threat to any person here, and tell the men to be watchful that the landlord does not send for the militia or anyone else to do us harm, and let a special watch be kept on the horses. After that, ask the landlord to come up to me. Leave the door open while he is in the room."

When she was sure the man understood, which was not difficult to determine because an expression of great relief replaced his previous one of tense worry, Fenice waved him on his way, then drank some of the wine on the tray. She felt in urgent need of whatever strength the wine could give her. Her mind scurried in terrified circles.

Aubery had gone out unarmed, wearing only his eating knife. Could he have been caught in the riot? But surely if he had been injured, a message would have been sent to her. Would it? Would the mayor remember that Aubery's wife had been with him? No special introduction had been made, and no apology had been sent for not including her in the invitation to dinner. And what if he had fallen where no one knew him and he had been so badly hurt he could not speak? Fenice began to shake. But before she could think of anything even more dreadful, there were steps on the stairs, and she fought to control herself.

"I have heard," she said as soon as the landlord was in the room, "that there was trouble in Pons yesterday. I am sorry for it, of course, but as you know, my husband's men had no part in it. Is the town quiet now?"

"Yes, it is quiet," the man said, eyeing her uneasily.

Fenice was aware of his discomfort, but oddly that gave her hope rather than increasing her fear. It was not possible that the landlord could have news of Aubery in particular. Whatever he knew that he was wary of telling her must concern the entire English party. But she could not worry about that yet. First she had to try to find out whether it was likely that Aubery had been caught in the fighting.

"When did the trouble begin? How long did it last?" Fenice asked. If the rioting had taken place after Aubery arrived at the dining hall and ended before he left, he could not have been involved.

"It did not last long," the landlord said. "We prepared when we heard so large a group of English lords and their retainers was coming. Not long after s.e.xt there was so much disturbance that it was necessary to call out the militia, but the worst was over before the hour of none."

Relief flooded through Fenice, even as she realized that there was trouble coming. Whatever else was wrong, Aubery was safe. He could not have been in any fighting. He must have been well into the first course of the meal by s.e.xt, and a formal dinner would surely last more than three hours. They could not have risen from the tables much before vespers, so Aubery's delay could not be owing to being injured in the riot. There had been so many little frowns, sidelong slips of the eyes, lip twitchings, and foot shufflings by the landlord while he spoke that Fenice realized he was nerving himself to say something unpleasant.

He burst out with it just as Fenice was about to ask what was troubling him. "And who is to pay?" he asked angrily. "You have the best chamber. You have been served the finest we have. Your men have eaten and drunk and slept. Who is to pay, I ask?"

His manner was so aggressive that Fenice stepped back instinctively, and Oswald pushed the door wider and came into the room with his hand on his sword. The landlord gave an alarmed gasp, and Fenice said at once, "He will do you no harm. He thought I was being threatened." She gestured the man-at-arms away but smiled at him warmly to show she was pleased by his action. Then she turned again toward the landlord, who was looking even more frustrated and aggrieved. "As for payment," Fenice continued, "you must explain to me why you are uneasy. My husband is an honest man and would not wish you to be cheated, nor would I."

"The payment was to come from the town-so the mayor's steward said when he brought you-but when I sent the reckoning to him this morning, he said the town would not pay for lodgings and meals for men who are prisoners. And when my servant tried to tell him that we had as guests a lady and her guardsmen, who had no part in the riots, the steward drove my man away with threats against dishonest landlords."

At first Fenice did not quite take in more than that the mayor's steward was refusing to pay for her lodgings. "He must have forgotten I was accompanying my husband," she said. "Or else the mayor has realized that we do not really belong with the others. We met them by accident on the road. Do not fear for your reckoning, landlord. I have money enough to pay, I a.s.sure you, and I will even pay for the extra Englishmen you took in."

But as she spoke she realized that nothing made sense and reviewed what the landlord had said, and the word "prisoners" leapt out at her so that she broke into the landlord's relieved thanks, crying, "Prisoners? What do you mean? My husband and I have safe conduct from the king! How can he be a prisoner?"

"The other lords had safe conduct, too," the landlord replied, "but not safe conduct to steal or rape decent women."

"Are you saying that my husband stole-" Fenice shrieked furiously.

"No! No!" the landlord cried, shrinking away as Oswald rushed into the room again. "It was the men, not the lords, who committed the outrages. Please, my lady..."

"My husband's men committed no outrages," Fenice snapped, nonetheless shaking her head at the man-at-arms so that he stopped where he was with his sword half-drawn but she did not send him back outside the room this time.

"My servant tried to tell that to the mayor's steward," the landlord pointed out, making an effort to be calm but eyeing the half-drawn sword. "The steward would not listen. He did not want to hear of anyone's innocence, for they will ask reparations as ransom."

Ransom-instead of adding to Fenice's fear, the word again a.s.sured her of Aubery's safety. Prisoners held for ransom were not ill used, at least, not unless payment was refused because they had to be produced in reasonably good condition. The certainty that her husband was not being tortured calmed Fenice enough to let her realize that it was not wise to make an enemy of the landlord. She sent Oswald out again and turned to her shaken host.

"I am sorry," she said. "You are not at fault, and I will see that you are not the loser." She undid her purse and took out a silver coin. "Here, take this on account, and do not think ill of my man. He is nervous because my husband would punish him terribly if I should complain he allowed me to be ill treated, and he does not understand French very well, so I cannot explain my desires clearly. Thus, he rushes to my a.s.sistance each time I raise my voice."

The landlord had glanced surrept.i.tiously at the coin and weighed it in his hand. He nodded his head. "I have no complaint," he a.s.sured her, smiling now. "He did me no harm, and the others are quiet and keep to themselves. You are welcome to stay as long as you like." He hesitated, weighed the coin in his hand again, and said softly, "If you apply to Esme de Perignac, he might be willing to help, or at least give you news."

With that he bowed himself out. Fenice stood looking blankly at the door, which she had closed behind him, her body shaking with reaction now that there was no one to see her. For a moment she supported herself with a hand on the door, but then she mastered her trembling knees enough to cross the room and sit down in her chair. The smell of the food nearby made her feel sick, but she did not feel strong enough to get up and move the tray or even call to Oswald to take it out. She sat looking at it until her senses dulled and the odor no longer affected her. Then she reached for the pitcher of wine and poured some into the goblet she had emptied earlier.

Fenice felt dazed and unbelieving, as if this were a bad dream and she would soon wake from it and find herself in bed with Aubery lying beside her. She sat sipping the wine, not aware of thinking, but when she heard Oswald speak to someone who replied in English, she realized she had come to a decision, got quickly to her feet, and opened the door.

"Oswald, who speaks the best French among you?" she asked in English.

"None of us speak much," he replied doubtfully.

"One of the men who came in yesterday speaks good French," the other man suggested. "I heard him jesting with one of the maidservants."

The remark had to be repeated before Fenice was sure she had understood properly, and a little more time was spent in discussing whether that man could be trusted. Oswald was cautious, but John, the second man, said that Rafe was not a mercenary but attached to the household of one of the other knights who had been taken prisoner and was angry at what he felt was the mistreatment of his master. Although she did not understand everything that was said, Fenice made out enough to decide that Oswald, who was going off duty, should send Rafe up to her.

While she waited, she put in order the thoughts that had been running through her head. First, she must have more definite information than the rumors the landlord had related to her as if they were facts. How could he know the truth? It was clear from what he said that he was not among the important citizens of Pons. For all she knew, he was only trying to obtain double payment. Fenice did not hope that everything he had said was lies. No matter how drunk Aubery might have been or what else he had been doing, she was certain he would have returned to the inn by now if he were not under some restraint.

However, the action of the commune might not be as unreasonable and dishonest as the landlord made out. The judges of the town might be trying to determine who did have safe conducts and discover which men's retainers were guilty of causing the riot. Nonetheless, Fenice felt she must a.s.sume the worst, that the landlord was right and the commune of Pons did not care who was guilty or innocent but merely intended to wrest ransoms from all. In that case, it would be foolish to remind the mayor that she existed. Likely they would take her prisoner, too, and demand a double sum.

That thought made a quiver of anger pa.s.s through her. She had been too frightened to be resentful up to this moment, but now it seemed monstrous that Aubery, who had been so careful to give no offense, should be drained of money he could ill afford because... Fenice had been about to blame the carelessness and arrogance of the Earl of Warwick and his companions for Aubery's plight when she suddenly remembered the landlord saying that the citizens of Pons had prepared when they heard "so large a group of English lords and their retainers were coming".

Prepared, had they? For what had they prepared? The riot had lasted less than three hours. Doubtless that short duration had been because the militia was warned and organized, but in that short time how much damage could have been done? The town had not been set in flames. Surely it would not take the ransoms of high n.o.blemen, one of them an earl, and tens of other knights to repay the merchants' losses and soothe the ruffled feelings of the violated women. When she began to think of it in those terms, it seemed to Fenice that what the commune of Pons had prepared for was to gouge a huge sum of money from defenseless travelers.

At this point in Fenice's cogitations, Rafe bowed himself into her chamber. Clearly he was a cla.s.s above the simple men-at-arms who accompanied her and Aubery. Rafe introduced himself as marshal to Sir Philip Marmim. He showed no awkwardness in talking to Fenice, thanked her for her offer to pay for food and lodging for himself and the two men who had escaped with him, and told her that they had been set upon when they had approached the dining hall, intending to accompany their master who often drank too much to manage alone. His speech was smooth and fluent, but Fenice could sense the rage under it. The fellow feeling encouraged her, and she told him what the landlord had said, including that they might obtain help or news from Esme de Perignac.

Rafe was eager to go but raised the point of whether his armor would make him a target the moment he stepped into the street. There was other clothing at his original lodging, but he had no way to get it without exposing himself or one of his men. Fenice immediately offered a plain tunic of Aubery's but made it clear that she did not want him to mention her or her husband when he spoke to de Perignac. Rafe a.s.sured her that he would do his best not to give any information by which he, she, Aubery, or his master could be traced.

"I have enough of the merchant in me," he said, smiling, "to wrap up a bad fish so prettily that one might think it roses."

After he left, Fenice steeled herself to waiting, for she knew that it might take him a long time to gain admittance, or de Perignac might not be at home or be hard to find-many things could cause delay. But it was impossible to think about anything except the treacherous seizure and imprisonment of her husband, and every minute that pa.s.sed made it more certain that the landlord's tale had not been an exaggeration. Had Aubery been detained only to examine his safe conduct and determine whether or not his men had taken part in the disturbance, he would have been free by now.

Fenice grew angrier and angrier. It was no part of her nature to fly into sudden rages. Hers was the kind of anger that built slowly, gaining depth and ferocity. Nor was she the kind to leap into foolish, fury-driven action. Now, as in the convent where Lady Emilie had placed her after Delmar's death, she listened to the fire song in the hearth and thought slowly and carefully about the injustice done by the commune of Pons.

One thing was sure: She was not going to pay out any of Aubery's small store of gold to those greedy devils. And if she could, she would repay them for the discomfort they had inflicted on her husband by making as much trouble and grief as she could for them. But Fenice was not silly. She knew this was a larger matter and more difficult to right than the wrong done to her by Lady Emilie. It would be useless for her to escape alone, ride back to Bordeaux, and tell her father. Raymond could not invade France. Grandpapa was a va.s.sal of Louis's, and that would be an act of rebellion. All Papa could do was write to Uncle Alphonse, who would then appeal to King Louis for redress. But all that might take months, and during those months Aubery would be a prisoner.

Fear began to mingle with Fenice's rage, making her more desperate. She knew there were all types of imprisonment, from the luxurious detention of an honored and trusted prisoner of war, who would be provided with every comfort, often including freedom to join in all family activities, to confinement in an oubliette so small that a man could not move his limbs, could not s.h.i.+ft his body enough to avoid his own excrement, could not defend himself from the rats that would gnaw on his living flesh. How harsh was Aubery's confinement?

Tears came into Fenice's eyes, but she fought them back. Weeping would not help her husband. Nor was it sensible to imagine horrors. Oubliettes were for men who were meant to die horribly, not for those to be ransomed. But if the ransom should not be paid, or if the commune learned, as they well might, whose complaint had brought King Louis's attention on them and frustrated their scheme, then Aubery might be tortured and killed. Fenice sobbed once and choked back the sound. The answer was not to cry but to free him.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

It was late afternoon before Rafe returned, and the news he brought was all bad. Everything the landlord said was true, and all Fenice's worst suspicions about the greed and dishonesty of the commune of Pons were confirmed. Not only were all, innocent and guilty alike, to be forced to pay ransom for their freedom, but the ransoms were ridiculously high. Even for the wealthiest, it would take time to gather such sums, and for the poorer, it might be impossible. Rafe said angrily that he supposed the commune expected men like his master to pay part of the poorer knights' ransoms out of pity or fellow feeling.

"Not Aubery's," Fenice said softly and mendaciously, for she had no intention of paying any ransom at all. "I will manage that."

She had had hours to plan and had examined carefully every idea that occurred to her, from having the eight English men-at-arms try to force their way into the prison, to herself acting the bawd so that she could steal the keys from the chief gaoler. Although she still held in reserve the simplest plan-that of somehow tricking the guard at the gate and having her men plus Rafe and his two overpower the other gaolers-she did not really think that would be possible. If one guard managed to sound an alarm, the gates would be sealed to all, the militia would be called out again, and all prisoners would be recaptured in no time.

Still, if the commune were overconfident and too n.i.g.g.ardly to pay enough men to guard the prisoners, the most direct approach might work. So Fenice now proposed to Rafe that he try to discover where the men were imprisoned, how carefully they were guarded, and whether it would be possible to free some or all of them with the force they had. In addition, she suggested that he try to find out who entered the prison on a regular basis, at what times, and for what purposes. Furthermore, she said that if she could be of use as a decoy or a distraction, Rafe could count on her to play the role and should consider the benefit of such a deception in evaluating any plan he made.

Rafe looked at her with both surprise and respect. She had seemed so unmoved by the confirmation of their worst expectations that he had begun to wonder whether she cared that her husband was a prisoner. Some wives would be delighted to learn that their mates were in confinement, but it seemed that Lady Fenice was not one of those and was really interested in freeing her man.

Had he known what Fenice had been revolving in her mind, plans she would not think of mentioning to a man but was working out ever more carefully, he would have been stunned and horrified rather than surprised and respectful. Not that Fenice had settled on playing the bawd. That idea had been dismissed for three reasons. First, she might be used by every filthy creature in the place without ever being able to get the keys. Second, even if she got them, they would do her no good unless she knew where Aubery was, and unlocking the cell would be impossible and useless if there were guards about. Third, no matter how glad Aubery was to be free, he would probably never be able to forget that the sc.u.m of Pons had used her body.

Fenice had built the fire higher and hotter until it hissed and crackled with a fury akin to that burning in her. As each idea occurred to her and she had to dismiss it, she grew more furious and determined to accomplish her purpose. Over and over she began, If force is not practical, then guile must replace it. And at last, when she needed to use the chamber pot, she suddenly found the way.

No one ever "saw" the disgusting creatures who collected excrement while they were at their work. Their clothes and persons were clotted and spattered with filth, and their odor was an offense even to the hardened noses of town dwellers. Just as she had done that morning when the-man? woman? she did not even know which-had come in to empty her pot, one moved out of their way and looked aside. Disguised as a gatherer of night soil, someone could enter the prison and discover exactly where Aubery was being kept and how he was guarded...

At that point Fenice had gone back and examined the notion that no one looked at or spoke to collectors of excrement. Gentlefolk did not, most castle servants did not, but were the gaolers much above the gatherers of filth? What if they jested with those creatures or had some other reason to speak to them? It was possible, possible enough so that only Rafe or herself could play the part since none of the other men-at-arms spoke sufficient French. Fenice thought a little longer and then had to suppress an impulse to vomit. Not Rafe, his first loyalty must be to his own master. Of course, if Aubery and Philip Marmim were in the same part of the prison... But how could she count on that? No, she herself must don those filth-spattered rags and handle the contents of those buckets. Fenice gagged at the thought.

It was an unpleasant prospect, but by the time Rafe returned from his second errand, her mind was resigned to the purgatory she would have to endure, and a fierce gladness was beginning to fill her with a kind of enthusiasm for her trial. She would see Aubery, even if she could not speak to him. She could ascertain for herself his condition and decide what would be best to do. Thus, Fenice showed no discouragement when Rafe told her that no attempt of eight men to force their way in or out would be possible.

The prisoners had been divided into two groups, the n.o.blemen had been placed in the chambers of one of the towers of the old keep, the lesser knights in the donjon itself. Rafe had not been able to discover how either group was guarded or whether they were guarded at all, but he believed the number of men on the walls and around the bailey would make it impossible to reach either the tower or the donjon by force. He had seen the guards on the walls himself and learned about the division of the prisoners and that the bailey was patrolled from one of the militiamen whom he had induced into conversation by false praise of the previous day's action and several cups of wine.

Moreover, an extremely strict watch was kept on all who entered and left-he had hardly escaped being taken himself only for walking more slowly than the gate guard liked past the gate. But, Rafe added, the vigilance probably would not be long-lasting. After a few days or a week, when the commune was sure they had rid the town of any adherents of the prisoners who might try to rescue them, they would relax their guard. They would not want to pay any mercenaries, and the militiamen had their own lives to lead. If he and Lady Fenice could remain inconspicuous for a time, perhaps they would have a chance to do something.

"Did you discover who is allowed in?" Fenice asked.

"As far as I could tell, no one except members of the commune and of the militia," Rafe replied. "They may have food stored in the place, or they may feel that a day or two of starvation will soften up their captives. The last man I spoke to heard everyone had refused to pay anything, much less what was asked, and the mayor was nearly killed because he came too close to Gilbert Seagrave, and Seagrave grabbed him by the throat and nearly choked him before the guards could pry him loose."

"Are they not even taking out the night soil?" Fenice persisted anxiously. Rafe looked at her oddly, and she continued, "Those people are easy to bribe. One came to my room this morning to clear my pot. If we could get that one into the keep instead of the one who usually does the work there, we could learn whether there are guards at each cell and perhaps other things, too."

"I see." Rafe nodded then suddenly smiled. "It does not matter who usually clears out the keep," he went on. "If you can get the one who works here to agree, we can set our men in hiding to stop any other from going to the gate. And the gate guard will not stop a soil collector, even if no special order was given to let one in. Yes, that is a good thought. A good time would be just before dawn. The guard changes at sunrise, and the men on duty will be tired and bored."

"Good," Fenice replied quietly, although her heart was leaping in her breast. "You explain to the men. It is easier for you, who speak English well. Then, at the proper time, wake the slave who cleans the inn and send him to my chamber, telling him that I have been sick and it is necessary to empty my pot and clean the floor. I will explain what is desired."

When Rafe had agreed and left, there was nothing more for Fenice to do until the following dawn. She could not settle to any ordinary task and spent the next few hours on her knees praying for mercy and help to Holy Mary and Saint Jude and to every other saint who supported wild and hopeless causes.

When she was too weary to kneel a moment longer, Fenice went to bed, and owing to the poor rest she had had the preceding night and the tension and anxiety of the day, she slept at once and stayed asleep quite soundly until the man on guard at the door opened it and whispered, "My lady, the pot cleaner is here."

Fenice woke instantly with her whole plan clear in her mind, but it was not to be as easy as simply offering a coin. The old slave was at first so frightened by the fact that Fenice spoke to him that he made no attempt to listen, only tried to escape from the room. Having seen no sign of the sickness he had been sent to clean up, he was afraid he had come to the wrong place and would be punished for intruding on a guest. Terrified that he would scream and wake others in the inn if she tried to delay him to explain what she wanted and that her men would discover what she was about, Fenice leapt after him, seizing the candlestick from the table as she ran and bringing it down hard on his head.

For a moment she was shocked at her violence, but then she thought with satisfaction that it was much better this way. Nothing would have to be explained, and possibly the old man would never even know his clothes had been taken. If he woke in whatever filthy cranny he slept in, he would thank G.o.d that no worse had befallen him. Feeling much uplifted, for she took the circ.u.mstance to be a sign that her prayers had been heard and her cause acceptable to the holy ones to whom she had prayed, Fenice removed the old man's outer garments with shrinking fingers, bound and gagged him with a pair of stockings, rolled him in a blanket so he would not freeze, and pushed him beneath the bed.

That was not too bad, but the worst was yet to come. Fenice began to put on the horrible garments, muttering prayers of thanksgiving that the loose breeches would permit her to retain her own s.h.i.+ft. She could pull the skirt of that between her thighs and cram it into the breeches so that neither those nor the equally filth-clotted tunic would come in contact with her skin. There was also room to fasten Aubery's long hunting knife around her waist, and although it would be difficult to reach, it still gave her a sense of security to have the weapon. Even so, Fenice made good her excuse for having the slave sent up by being sick twice while she donned the garments.

Then she realized that the old slave had no shoes or stockings. Fenice herself dared not go barefoot, not only because her tender and unaccustomed feet would soon be cut and bruised but because their slender, delicate appearance would give her away in a minute. She pulled on a pair of dark wool stockings and ruthlessly sacrificed another blanket, cutting it into strips so that she could bind those around her feet. As she finished, she realized that she had solved another problem at the same time. The clumsy, tottering way the bindings would make her walk would prevent her from forgetting she was supposed to be an old man and stepping out in her usual way.

Finally, having bound her hair around her head and wrapped a dark cloth around it to protect it as much as possible, she smeared her face with ashes, pulled on the old man's hood, and drew it up. She gagged again at the odor, and then, without allowing herself time to think, plunged her hands into the bucket of excrement. Shuddering and sobbing with disgust, she smeared the filth over her arms and then even speckled her face with it. When she could control her heaving body, she crept to the door, bucket in hand.

Outside, Rafe was waiting for her. She knew he would not be able to make out her face in the dark and suspected that even if he could, he simply would not believe what he saw, so she was not nervous about being detected at this point. But then she realized that the bucket she carried could not be what she used to remove large quant.i.ties of night soil. She did not even know if the inn servant had anything that would serve the purpose. Possibly others were employed to cart the valuable if disgusting substances away.

"A cart-" she mumbled, bending her lips over her teeth so that the words would be slurred.

"I have it outside," Rafe answered distastefully. "I did not want you waking the whole place clattering it over the cobbles of the yard."

Again, despite the waves of sickness that still swept over her, Fenice felt uplifted. She hoped it was not blasphemy to think of Holy Mary and the blessed saints in conjunction with a dung cart, but as she found the hook where the bucket she was carrying must be hung, and grasped the pulling bar of the oozing barrel set between two wheels, she gave thanks to Mary and the saints for smoothing the way. And the luck held at the gate of the prison, where the guard opened the small door at once, even though he commented that the collector was early.

Since Fenice really did not want to clean the filth of the whole prison and had no idea of the usual routine, if there was one, she determined to take a chance and mumbled "For the lords." Aubery had been wearing a very grand gown, so he might have been placed with the n.o.blemen. In any case, it would be easier to eliminate the tower if he were not there than search through the much larger number of men imprisoned in the donjon.

The gate guard laughed coa.r.s.ely and asked if the mayor thought their droppings were more delicate and needed to be separated from the others.

"Thinks they get sick maybe," Fenice grunted, trying to produce a hacking cough that would make the guard shy away.

She succeeded better than she expected, the deep breaths made necessary by the coughing stimulating her feeling of nausea so that her bile rose in her throat, and she choked and gargled and spat. This was too much even for the guard, and he pointed to the tower where the n.o.ble prisoners were confined. Fenice stumbled across the bailey, dragging the heavy cart behind, and repeated to the guard outside that the soil buckets of the lords were to be emptied.

Here Fenice met the first check, for the guard on duty snarled that no one had given him any special order regarding the clearing of soil from the prisoners' cells. Fenice's first impulse was to run, but she realized that that would only betray her, and she stopped herself before she did more than shy away. She put out her hand toward her cart and then it came to her that if she missed this opportunity to get inside the tower, she might never have another.

"I wait then," she whimpered, s.h.i.+vering with fear but squatting down beside the cart.

The guard made a disgusted sound and raised a hand to strike, but even as he was about to drive the stinking nuisance away he realized that the gate guard had pa.s.sed the creature. It was near the end of the watch and he was tired, but he knew that his replacement would be annoyed and complain if he had to accompany the dung collector. It was not worth the trouble to save a few steps, he thought, and growled, "Oh, curse you, come on then," and unlocked the door of the tower.

Fenice almost made the mistake of jumping to her feet in her eagerness. Fortunately, the hem of the tunic she wore had caught under the clumsy rag wrappings on her feet, and she fell forward sprawling. She had an instant to be again grateful to the kindly powers that were helping and guiding her before the guard cursed again and poked at her with the long-shafted billhook he carried. In her desire to get inside, she was already rolling away, so she was barely p.r.i.c.ked, but rage boiled up in her. Fenice had often bowed meekly under insult and oppression from her equals and superiors, but she was not accustomed to physical gestures of cruelty and contempt from those she knew to be beneath her.

Still, she contained herself, grabbed her pail, and shuffled into the tower. A torch was flaring on the wall, and Fenice saw with a surge of satisfaction that the door of the cell was not locked with a key but with a large bar. She hesitated, instinctively waiting for the guard to open the door for her, but he poked her again with the billhook, and she realized she would have to lift the bar and open the door herself while he presented his weapon as a threat to the prisoners within.

She set her bucket down by the wall and began to struggle with the bar. It was almost impossible for her to get it off its hooks, and she was terrified that the guard would realize she was a woman, but he said nothing as she strained, and at last she was able to push it out of its rests, set it on the floor, and pull the door open. As she entered the cell, a new fear seized her-that it would be so dark in the unlit interior that she would not be able to recognize Aubery. However, the cell was very small, and she saw the faces of both men as they sat up, startled by the grating of the hinges and the sudden light. One was William Mauduit. She did not know the other.

The slop bucket was in the corner. Fenice shuffled two steps, seized it, and backed out, closed the door behind her, emptied the bucket into hers, barely opened the door wide enough to toss the bucket back inside, and closed it again, levering the bar up and into its braces as quickly as she could. She had no intentions of permitting the prisoners to cause trouble or giving the guard any reason for suspicion before she discovered in which cell Aubery was being kept-if he were imprisoned here rather than in the donjon.

As the bar dropped home, the guard lowered his billhook with a slightly relieved expression. Fenice went out to empty the bucket into the barrel on the cart, came in again, and preceded the guard up the winding stair to the second level of the tower. Here she repeated the procedure, noting that the Earl of Warwick and Gilbert Seagrave were the occupants of the cell. Wearily she trudged down the stairs to empty the bucket, came up climbing more and more slowly as her hope dimmed.

On the third level, she again set down her bucket and began the struggle with the bar. She was shaking with effort and sickness, nearly blinded by tears. As she heaved desperately at the heavy piece of wood, she prayed for help, for the strength to endure until she found Aubery.

This time it seemed as if her prayer was not to be answered. The bar stuck, and the guard prodded her angrily with the billhook, however, the p.r.i.c.k as the weapon went through her threadbare tunic and thin s.h.i.+ft, and the rage and fear generated in her lent strength to her arms. She shoved frantically, the bar flew up out of its hooks and fell to the floor with a loud thud, and the guard growled threateningly. Hastily, Fenice opened the door, and found her prayer had been answered after all. Aubery was just getting to his feet as the light of the torch on the landing illuminated the cell.

Overwhelmed with joy and relief, Fenice hesitated. Uttering a louder curse, the guard shoved her with the billhook. Her eyes on Aubery, she tripped over the rag foot wrappings and fell to her knees, crawling forward toward the slop bucket out of the line of the guard's weapon. But the brief hesitation had shown her that her husband had been hurt. His face was bruised all over with one eye blackened and swollen shut, and his gown was torn and stained with blood. The rage Fenice had so long contained exploded.

She got to her feet, grabbed the bucket, whirled toward her tormentor, and threw the contents into his face. His shriek of surprise and disgust was cut off by a mouthful of filth, and he dropped his weapon to claw at the disgusting matter clotting his eyes and mouth. Aubery dove toward the fallen weapon, but Fenice had run forward too, swinging the bucket with every ounce of strength she had, taking the guard in the stomach. As he bent over, Aubery rose and slammed the b.u.t.t of the billhook across the back of the man's neck, where it was not protected by his helmet. He did not cry out but fell and lay like a log.

"Oh, Aubery, are you badly hurt?" Fenice cried.

And Aubery, who had begun to ask, "Who-" gasped instead, "Fenice? Fenice?" and then could say no more as he nearly strangled on an astonished joy that changed quickly to shock and horror.

But Fenice had forgotten her appearance in the sudden dreadful realization that her furious act had spoiled any hope of freeing the prisoners in the near future. This attack on the guard would surely be taken for an attempt at rescue. Vigilance would be increased. Worse yet, the commune might come to the conclusion that the attempt had been intended to free Aubery in particular, and G.o.d knew what they would do to him or where they would hide him. Could they conceal what she had done by killing the guard and hiding his body?

As Fenice's eyes pa.s.sed frantically around the cell in a hopeless, nearly insane quest for a place of concealment, a better answer came to her. There was no place to hide the guard, of course, but the arrow slits in the wall showed gray sky, not black, and she remembered that Rafe had said the changing of the guard took place at sunrise. He had told her also that there was always some confusion as one group replaced the other. If the bodies were exchanged, Fenice thought, if Aubery's robe were put on the guard and he put on the guard's clothing, Aubery could escape by pretending to be a guard going home after his tour of duty was over.

"Quick," she cried, "quick, take off your gown and put on the guard's armor."

Aubery was still staring at her in numb, revolted amazement, and Fenice quickly outlined her fears and the one hope she believed remained, that he could escape during the confusion while new guards were replacing those going off duty.

"For though some may lodge here in the keep, some must go home," she said. "Oh, I am sure some go home or go out to eat at an inn. Is this not possible?"

Although Aubery's lips parted as if he were about to answer her, he seemed unable to find words, and he turned away, not being able to bear looking at her.

"I am sorry," Fenice sobbed, "but when I saw they had hurt you-" She choked back her tears as well as possible. This was no time to make excuses. "I am sorry," she repeated, "but you must escape-you must!"

Still without speaking, Aubery knelt and started to strip the guard. He knew what Fenice had said about the need for him to escape was true. The reason Aubery was alone in this topmost cell was that he had not yielded tamely to capture. After the crowd of armed militia had rushed in to make prisoners of the unarmed and unsuspecting guests, Aubery had, he remembered, overturned the table at which he had been sitting and also wielded his bench as a weapon. Once the English n.o.bles were imprisoned, the mayor of Pons, speaking for the whole commune, had judged his captives guilty of deliberately setting their men to steal, rape, and riot. Aubery alone cried foul at the mayor's ruling.

Nor had he been a pacific prisoner. Originally Aubery had been in the cell on the lowest floor with William Mauduit, his ferocity, grand clothing, and the fact that he had entered Pons in company with the Earl of Warwick having deluded the commune into believing him a n.o.bleman rather than a simple knight. However, Aubery had induced Mauduit to help him rush the guard and the town official who had come to name their ransoms. After that he had been isolated on the top floor, being considered too p.r.o.ne to encourage rebellion in others to have any companion and too dangerous to keep below, so near the outer door.

When the commune heard of this successful attack on the guard, Aubery thought, they might well come to the conclusion that his ransom was not worth the trouble he was causing and have him executed. At the least, they would load him down with chains and fasten him to the walls. Fenice was right, he must escape. As he thought her name, he glanced at her again and shuddered. From somewhere about her person she had drawn a long knife and was advancing on the guard, from whom he had removed helmet and habergeon.