By Arrangement Part 31

"London has walls."

"I hope that you are right."

"What is it, David? What worries you?"

But before he could reply, the answer appeared on the roof in the persons of two knights from the constable's retinue.

Chapter 22.

David paced around the small storage chamber. The s.p.a.ce reeked of herring from the barrels stacked against one wall. A small candle lit the windowless cell, and he tried to judge the time pa.s.sing by its slowly diminishing length.

He was fortunate to still be alive. Upon confronting him in the hall about his betrayal, the constable had barely resisted cutting him down with his sword. The panic and confusion brought on by the English army's approach had saved his life. The hall had been in an uproar as the constable and chamberlain tried to organize a defense of the city while their squires strapped on their armor. Word had been sent east and south, calling back Theobald's army and rousing the general population to gather and fight this invasion. David had been imprisoned in this chamber to await hanging after the more pressing threat had been defeated.

Before being led away, he had tried to reason with the constable and chamberlain and convince them not to resist Edward. He had told them that the English army numbered at least twenty thousand, while the constable had at best three hundred men still in Caen. He had reminded them that surrender would spare the people of the city and only mean the loss of property. Only the mayor had listened, but the decision had not been his. The French king had told the Constable d'Eu to stop Edward, and the constable intended to fight for the honor of France despite the odds. Caen would not surrender or ask for terms. He strained to hear the sounds leaking through the thick cellar wall. The house had quieted and the more distant activity only came to him as a dull rumble. The real battle would be fought at the gate bridge. If the city could retain control of that single access, the river would prove more formidable than any wall. For Christiana's sake, he hoped that the gate bridge held. If the city fell, she would not be safe from those English soldiers as they pillaged this rich town. He doubted that they would listen to her claims of being English, just as they would not listen to him when they broke into this storage room to loot the goods that it contained. He grimaced at the irony. He would undoubtedly die today, but if he lived long enough to hang, if Edward failed to take this city, at least Christiana would be safe. He pounded his fist into the wall in furious frustration that he could not help her. She had been sent to Heloise and the other women immediately upon his arrest. She had fought the knights who pulled her away. Those knights had not returned, and he prayed that they guarded the chamber in which the women waited. It would be some protection, at least.

He lifted the candle and reexamined his tiny prison. He wished it contained other than dried herring, and not just because of the smell. Whoever went to the trouble to break down this door would probably kill him out of resentment at finding nothing of value for their time and labor. As if echoing his thoughts, a sound at the door claimed his attention. Not the crash of an ax or battering ram, though. The more subtle tone of metal on metal.

Perhaps Edward had decided to move on. Maybe it would be hanging after all. He moved to the far wall and watched the door ease open.

At the threshold, her face pale like a ghost's, appeared a haggard Heloise. Christiana stood behind her holding his long steel dagger at the blond woman's throat.

"She knew it was the only sensible thing to do, David, but she is one of those women who only obeys her husband, so I had to encourage her," Christiana said. She replaced the dagger into the sheath hanging from her waist.

Heloise looked ready to faint. She leaned against the wall for support.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"The bridge has been taken," Christiana explained. Her own face was drawn with fear that she tried bravely to hide. "The knights protecting us left long ago, and I have been watching from the roof. Our army is all over the town, like a mob. It is as you said. In victory they are taking all that they can move. The people are throwing benches and rocks down on them from the roofs, and that is slowing their progress, but not by much."

"No one is here," Heloise cried. "The gate is guarded only by some grooms and servants. When the bridge fell, the soldiers all left, some to fight in the streets, others to run."

Christiana moved up close to him and spoke lowly. "She wanted to take her daughters and run, too, but I convinced her that she was better behind these walls than in the city. They are not castle walls, and will not stop the army long, but the soldiers are killing all they meet. Even from the roof I could see many bodies fall."

He looked in her eyes and read her deep realization of the danger which she faced. He turned to Heloise.

"It is well that you released me, madame," he said soothingly. "Fortune has always smiled on me. Perhaps she will be kind today as well." He eased the woman away from the wall. "Let us go and a.s.sess our situation."

Bad news awaited in the courtyard. The servants guarding the gate had fled, and the entry stood open to the street. In the distance they could hear the screams of a city being sacked. He ran over to close and bar the gate. A group of six women surged in just as he arrived. They looked to be burghers's wives and they threw themselves at Heloise.

"That devil of an English king has ordered everyone put to the sword," one of them cried. "They are stripping the bodies of their garments and cutting off fingers to get the rings. They are raping the women before slitting their throats."

The other women joined in with hysterical descriptions of the horrors they had seen. David barred the gate and looked around the courtyard. Christiana was right. These were not castle walls and they marked the house as that of a wealthy merchant. Eventually some soldiers would decide to batter down the gate or scale their heights. But they were better off here than outside in the city. Christiana stood to the side, listening to the tales of mutilation and destruction with an ashen face. The sounds of the pillaging army gradually moved closer.

He walked over and embraced her. "Do you remember the attic storage above the bedchambers? The one reached by the narrow stairs? Take them there."

"And you?"

"I will join you shortly. It appears that I will need that armor after all. I never thought to wear it against Englishmen. It appears that my father will have his way in the end. It is an ironic justice that my betrayal of him has put you in such danger."

"Do not blame yourself for this. You did not bring me here," she said, instinctively knowing the guilt that wanted to overwhelm him.

"All the same, you are here." He hesitated, not wanting to speak of the horror that threatened. "If they come, let them know who you are. Speak only English. Claim the protection of your brother and the King."

"It will not matter," she said, turning to the knot of women nearby. "I have seen it before. At Harclow. It had begun before we left. My brother accepted defeat and possible death to save my mother from what we face today."

She approached the women and spoke to them. Grateful to have some instruction that at least offered hope, they fell in around her as she led the way to the tall building and the attic chamber. David followed, but detoured to the room he and Christiana had shared. He slipped the breastplate of his armor over his shoulders and then lifted the pieces for his arms. He considered whether, with weapons and armor, he would be able to get Christiana alone out through the city streets. He shook his head. He had no jerkin that identified him as part of an English baron's retinue, and his shield bore no arms that these soldiers would recognize. They would think him French. In any case, he did not have it in him to abandon those other women and girls, nor would Christiana want him to. In death at least he could be the husband she deserved. Hoisting his sword with the other hand, he made his way to the stairway and the hiding women.

Christiana had already set the women to work. Lengths of cloth stretched on the floor, and they used his dagger to slice off sections of it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, setting down the armor.

"Banners," she said. "The white and green of Harclow. Thomas Holland's colors, and those of Chandros and Beauchamp. We will hang them from the windows. Who knows, it may attract someone who can help us."

She looked at the armor and stepped close. "I will do it." Her fingers began working the straps and buckles.

It took a long while to fit all of the armor, and he didn't even have the leg pieces. When they were done, she unstrapped the sheath from her waist and handed it to him, then retrieved the dagger from the women.

He looked a moment at the long length of sharp steel. Their eyes met.

"It will do me no good against armed men," she said, slipping it into its sheath on his hip. "And I am not brave enough to use it on the others and myself."

The women opened the windows and slid out the banners. The summer breeze carried the sounds of screaming death. As they closed the windows to secure the cloth, a crash against the gate thundered into the attic s.p.a.ce. The noise jolted everyone into utter silence.

The air in the chamber smelled sour from the fear pouring out of its occupants. David glanced at the eight women and three girls. Their faces were barely visible in the room darkened now by the cloth at the windows. He drew Christiana aside and turned his back on the others.

He held her face with his hands and closed his eyes to savor the delicate softness of her lips. An aching tenderness flooded him, and her palpable fear tore his heart. "When I go to Genoa this fall, you will come with me," he said. "After this, crossing the Alps will seem a minor thing. We will spend the cold months in Italy and travel down to Florence and Rome."

"I would like that," she whispered. "Perhaps we can even cross the sea to a Saracen land, and make love in a desert tent."

He kissed her closed eyes and tasted the salty tears welling in them. Unmistakable sounds of the gate giving way pounded into the chamber.

"Look at me, Christiana," he said. Her lids lifted slowly and he gazed into those liquid diamonds and let her see his soul's love for her. She smiled bravely and sorrowfully and stretched up to kiss him. The shouts and clamoring of men pouring into the courtyard bounced around them. Christiana lifted his sword and handed it to him. Behind him the attic chamber held complete silence. The women were beyond hysteria. Heloise's young daughters stared at him with wide-eyed solemnity. With one last long look at his beautiful wife, he opened the door and took a position at the top of the narrow stairs.

The primitive noise of rampage and looting filled the building. David stood tensely at his post, his sword resting against the wall beside him, and waited for the soldiers to eventually find the pa.s.sage that led to these steps and this attic.

The door behind him had been closed, but it could not be barred from the inside. Once he fell, there would be no protection for Christiana and the others.

The bedchambers and hall and lower storage rooms had kept them occupied for at least an hour now. It would not be long.

If he was fortunate, the men who had broken in might have closed the gate to others in order to keep the rich booty of the mayor's house for themselves and there might not be too many. If he was really fortunate, there would be no archers among them. If Fortune truly favored him, someone in authority might eventually arrive to secure the mayor's house for the King's pleasure and disposal. He wondered if there were knights amongst them, and if appeals to chivalry would do any good. He could not see the bottom of the stairs, for they rose up the side of the building to a landing before angling along the back wall to him. But he heard the scurrying below, and a man's shout to his friends when he discovered them.

They mounted the steps quickly, full of good cheer while they traded descriptions of the garments and jewelry and silver which they had already procured. He could tell that they were not knights from their speech. He waited.

Six men turned the corner of the landing. They began filing up. The first had reached the seventh step from the top when they finally noticed him. Six heads peered up in surprise.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" the lead man barked.

"An Englishman like yourselves. A Londoner. A merchant."

"You don't look like a merchant."

"None of us looks or acts like ourself today. War does that."

They stretched and craned to see around each other.

"What is behind that door, merchant?" one of them yelled.

"Cloth. Ordinary and not of much value."

"He's lying," the leader said. "These stairs are hidden. This is the chamber with the spices and gold."

"I swear that neither spices nor gold are in this room."

"Step aside and let us see."

"Nay."

More footfalls on the steps. More faces joining the others. The line turned the corner and out of sight. David eyed the long daggers and swords while the word was pa.s.sed that gold and spices awaited above. The closest men eyed him hard, measuring him, trying to decide if the armor indicated superior skill. The narrow steps meant that they could not rush him all at once and the first to come might well die. The long row began jostling around. A red head moved through them, pushing upward. "Stand aside!" a young voice commanded.

The others squeezed over and let the young man pa.s.s. He eased up next to the front man. A squire, David guessed from his youth and livery. Maybe twenty years old. Separated from his lord and enjoying his power and status in the h.e.l.l that Caen had become.

The squire glanced to David's sword and unsheathed his own.

"We opened this gate. The spoils are ours," he said.

"Since I stand on the top step, it is clear that I arrived before you," David replied. Agitated complaints and curses rumbled up the stairs. The men in the rear began calling for David to be dispatched so they could get to the gold.

David stared at the squire and the man beside him. The shouts rose and filled the stairway. Both men grew hard faced as their comrades urged them to action. He watched and waited, reading their resolve, bracing himself for the attack.

It will be the young one, he thought regretfully.

The red head suddenly surged upward. The long sword rose. David's hand went to his hip. Before the youth had climbed two steps he jerked upright. His shocked eyes glanced down at the steel dagger embedded in his throat. Then the body crumbled, blocking the stairs.

The mob of soldiers took a collective pause, and then the shouts and curses resumed at a louder, more insistent level. David reached for his sword.

He noticed an inexorable crowding forward, as if more men had joined the others and all pressed upward. The pressure on those in front became physical as well as vocal. Hands reached out and pushed the squire out of the way. The acrid smell of unleashed bloodl.u.s.t permeated the closed s.p.a.ce. He let the ruthless blood of Senlis flow to give him its cold strength.

And then, suddenly, silence began rolling up from the rear. The men on the landing looked behind them and then at each other. Bodies crushed against the walls, out of the way. The tall, dark-haired figure of a knight wearing the King's livery stepped up into view. Dark fiery eyes looked at David and flashed amus.e.m.e.nt and surprise. Sir Morvan waited calmly and silently for the soldiers above him to realize he wanted to pa.s.s. They jostled each other and pointed and cleared a path for him. He slowly mounted the steps until he came to the fallen squire. Glancing at David, he casually reached down and withdrew the dagger and blood began pouring from the wound. He wiped the weapon on his jerkin and joined David in front of the door.

"That is the problem with a dagger," he said lightly as he handed it over. "Once you have thrown it, you don't have a weapon anymore." His gaze raked over David's armor. "Nice steel. German?"

"Flemish."

"Aren't you supposed to be in England? Northumberland, wasn't it?"

"Other business led me here."

"And my sister?"

"I found her. Not with Percy."

Several of the men began muttering loudly about knights always taking the best portions for themselves. Morvan all but yawned as he unsheathed his sword. The grumbling stopped.

"You are in a bad position here," he observed.

"Aye. It is well that you arrived."

Morvan shrugged. "Once the bridge fell, the fun was over. Rape and looting don't appeal to me, so I decided to see about this house that flew the colors of Harclow." He glanced back at the door.

"Whatever you guard, it is not worth it. Step aside and let these men have it. They cannot be controlled once they have smelled spoils and tasted blood. Thomas Holland and I have spent the last hours trying to keep women and children from being murdered or defiled."

"I cannot step aside."

"It is just a matter of time before they find an archer. Is it truly gold as they said below?"

David shook his head and gestured to the door. Morvan opened it a crack, peered inside, and stiffened. He frowned and peered in again. Hot eyes turned on David as he closed the door. "Tell me that wasn't my sister who I just saw among those women."

"If you insist. It wasn't your sister."

Morvan snarled, opened the door once more, then slammed it shut. "h.e.l.l's teeth. What is she doing here?"

"Visiting friends of mine in this city. Whoever expected our army to come and sack it?"

"Once I get her out of here, I am going to kill you."

"If you can get her out of here, you may do so." He gestured to the men. Impatient complaints and mumbling had resumed, and he suspected that plans were being laid. "How many are there?"

Morvan shrugged. "Twenty. Thirty."

"Which is it? I would say it makes a difference."

Morvan smiled wryly. "Hardly. Twenty against two or thirty against two is equally hopeless. I am d.a.m.n good, David, but not that good, and my King's livery will only deter them for a while longer." All the same, he turned to the stairs and took a battle stance. With an exasperated sigh he reached over to David's sword hand and jerked it so the weapon pointed up rather than down. "Considering how you handle a sword, it is more like twenty or thirty against one and a half. You'd best stay on my right side. That is where we put the young squires."

Just then a quake shook the stairway. It repeated over and over. A series of grunts accompanied it, and the men on the lower landing looked behind themselves wide-eyed and then tried to melt into the wall. A ma.s.sive body stepped up and a craggy face grinned at David.

"I correct myself," Morvan said dryly. "Thirty against ten."

"Ja, but it was h.e.l.l finding you, David," Sieg said as he climbed toward them. Two men made the mistake of not peeling away quickly enough. Sieg calmly lifted them by their necks, crashed their heads together, and let them drop. "First I went to that castle across the river, but that bishop holding it has it sealed as tight as a coffin. I tried the Guildhall where the King has set up, then figured, h.e.l.l, maybe they had her here at the mayor's house."

Indignation at Sieg's handling had made several men brave. Glinting knives were brandished behind him. Without missing a step, he reached back with his huge hand, grabbed the nearest fool, and smashed the man's head into the stone wall.

"Is Oliver with you?" David asked as Sieg joined them.