Royal Dynasty: Fire Song Part 12

"Why?" Fenice echoed, her heart sinking sickly. It was a question she dared not answer, for to do so would expose her serf origin. "I...it was my father's will," she faltered.

Aubery stared at her. Somewhere out of their sight there was the unmistakable sound of flesh being chopped and the snap of bone. Fenice knew the men were butchering the deer. Sunlight flickered through the few remaining leaves of the tree opposite her, making shifting patterns on the dry gra.s.s as the light, fitful breeze stirred them. This late in the year, the whisper of leaf against leaf was a dry, brittle sound, not the soft sighing of spring. Have I lost the summer of my life so soon? Fenice wondered. Have I leapt from spring to winter?

"Your father is very gentle to you," Aubery said slowly. "He would not force you."

Aubery was very sorry he had begun this catechism. He had seen Fenice's fear and knew at once that his reasoning had not been at fault. She was hiding something. But did he want to know what it was?

"Force me? No! But...but is his goodness to me not reason enough?"

"Reason enough to give up a good property already your own for the mere expectation of another in a land you have never seen?" The words were out before Aubery could stop them. He had not intended to press the matter further, but to his surprise Fenice looked shocked rather than frightened now.

"Mine? Trets and Fuveau were never mine. Papa bought Trets so that his grandchildren would be better provided. So then when there were no grandchildren, it was only right that the lands should be his, not mine."

"But daughters have a right to a dowry," Aubery protested. "Mine-"

He stopped and looked away. He had been about to say that little Bess would have her mother's whole property, when it occurred to him that was the first time he had recalled Matilda's existence since they had started on this journey. That was wrong. He had wronged her in so many ways, he could not abandon even her memory just because Fenice provided him with so much pleasure. Aubery stood up abruptly.

"I will see whether the men have finished. If they do not hurry, we will never reach Bayonne before the gates are closed, and I have no mind to spend the night in an inn outside the town. You know what they are."

But Fenice was sure Aubery knew there was no need to hurry. It was no great distance to Bayonne. She sat perfectly still, not even turning to watch his retreating back. She was prey to so many conflicting emotions that she could not guess which hurt her most. She was sure he did not believe what she had said about the property, because daughters did have a right to a dowry, only not daughters like her, who would not have been acknowledged by many fathers. Yet she could not defend the truth of her statement because to do so would violate her oath to Lady Alys and might deprive her of any chance to bury that first wife in spirit as well as body.

That thought brought a grrr sound from Fenice's throat, very much like the warning one of her father's pet b.i.t.c.hes gave when someone approached Raymond while he was fondling her. It was only when Aubery thought of his dead wife that he left. Despite perhaps believing she was lying, he had still been talking of the property when he had referred to his daughter, which no doubt brought the dead woman to mind... Unaware, Fenice made the ugly little sound again but cut it off abruptly.

Or had he left her because she had not asked for the charge of his daughter? There had been a little pause after he had said "Mine" and before he got up. If that was the cause, Fenice knew she was justly punished by Aubery's anger, for she had been so busy hating a dead woman that she had not thought of the child.

Tears rose to Fenice's eyes. How could he think for a moment that she would not take the little girl and love her with all her heart? Could there be a better way to repay what Lady Alys had done for her? And if the child constantly reminded him of his first wife? Fenice shuddered.

"You have been sitting still too long. You are chilled." Aubery's voice came from behind her. The words were considerate, but the tone was empty. He was holding out his hand to help her rise, and she put her own into it in automatic response. Fenice wanted to say, "If you will give me your daughter, I will love her," but there was a closed look to his face so that she could not find her voice, and later, when he set her on her mare and mounted his own horse, he spoke of Bayonne and the task laid on them.

Nor, after they arrived well before dusk was there any opportunity to recall the subject. A man had been sent ahead with the king's letter so that when they came to the mayor's house, he was sent for hurriedly. Then they were shown to their quarters, and after they had been given time to clean themselves of travel dust and dress, the ceremonial greetings began.

Fenice found it very hard to be the center of all eyes, and the words "queen's kinswoman" seemed like a dreadful weight hanging over her head to crush her if she did wrong. However, Alys had never let her shirk social duties, and that rigid training now permitted Fenice to find the right words for each person presented to her, words spoken with a pretty diffidence, an appealing glance that begged approval.

To Aubery, practiced in dealing with people both as Hereford's and his stepfather's deputy, there was no personal strain in the formal presentations. He was able to measure the impression they were making, and he came to the conclusion that Raymond had judged astutely the effect his daughter would have. The glances cast at Fenice were revealing. In every group being introduced to persons thought to be influential there are those who consider whether and how they can profit from the acquaintance. There was nothing unnatural in it, it just seemed to Aubery that there were far too many who looked that way in this group. However, he was not troubled, in fact, he was pleased to find that thus far, even with missing words here and there because of the difference in accent, he was having no real difficulty in reading the people. His only doubts rose from his concern that Fenice was, indeed, as inexperienced and innocent as the Bayonnese thought her, and that despite her father's confidence she would fall into traps set for her.

But Fenice had been regarded by many of the serfs in Tour Dur as a natural bridge between them and their masters. Most had tried at one time or another to reach across her to obtain various advantages. She had early learned that no true friendship or grat.i.tude could be obtained through doing favors. Thus, Fenice had eventually learned to "smell" any attempt to use her.

The next morning was spent by Aubery in being shown the town and by Fenice in formal visits. The afternoon was taken up by the feast. It was already apparent to both that those who entertained them were not at ease, although Aubery had no reason to suspect that the tension was related to his visit. By evening, as Raymond had predicted, Aubery was the recipient of many suggestions, hints, and veiled accusations from each party against the other, delivered under various guises. All seemed to be ordinary attempts to influence King Henry in one way or another or normal political backbiting.

Another day pa.s.sed in a very similar manner, except that the dinner to which Aubery and Fenice were invited was a more private affair. Aubery had learned some things that the king would find unpalatable, but it was Fenice who nosed out the faint, ugly scent of something seriously rotten. No one would have known it from her manner, but after they got into bed that night, she crept softly out again to the door to make sure none of the maidservants who had been lent to them was near.

"There is something wrong among the women, my lord," she said very softly when she returned, creeping in between the bedcurtains as she had crept out without pulling them aside. "The wrong ones are frightened."

"What do you mean?" Aubery asked, his voice as low as hers.

It was a hard thing to explain, and Fenice began with a general condition. "There is much nervous talk about whether or not Bearn will come," she began, then paused and shook her head. "A few women, not too clever, seemed to think that it would not happen because the king sent me here." She shrugged at so ridiculous a notion of her importance. "The fear of Bearn is common and not surprising, and I do not think there will be long or strong resistance if he should come with a strong force."

"No," Aubery agreed impatiently. He did not need Fenice to tell him the obvious. "They will yield on terms if there is the smallest real threat of the town being overrun. I can hear that in the way the mayor and," he wrinkled his nose with distaste, "most of the peers speak of their loyalty to the king. Loyalty or not, I do not believe they would not ask for support if they intended to resist. There are some, however, who were most insistent that the king fill the city with troops to fight Bearn. I suppose they have done him some despite and expect retribution to fall on them if he takes power here."

"I would mark those men well, my lord," Fenice urged.

Aubery stiffened slightly with outrage. "You think they have befooled me?" he asked coldly.

"Oh, no," Fenice replied. "There is treachery here. I am sure of it. Those women who insist most strongly that Bearn will not come, that he is in Castile, are frightened. No, not frightened, that is the wrong word. They are stretched taut, like bowstrings, waiting for the arrow to be released. At least, the clever ones are. Those who are silly seem complacent. I would guess they are not in the confidence of their husbands. There is fear, too, underneath the expectation. That is why I said to mark the fearful men well. If they leave Bayonne all of a sudden, will that not mean they have been warned Bearn is on his way?"

"If they are warned," Aubery said dryly. "I doubt that those so opposed to Bearn would be part of the plans to give over the city to him, which can be the only treachery here." He shrugged. "I am not sure you are right. The ladies you think guilty may be hiding no more than their own doubts of the wisdom of their husbands' opinions. And fearful creatures may run because their courage, what there was of it, had failed. Still, I will keep what you have said in my mind."

He paused, but Fenice had completed her disclosures and merely snuggled herself against his body. Aubery was aware of a familiar surge of response, but he ignored it. An idea had occurred to him. He had thought of a more profitable way to use the fear he had noted. If treachery were planned, then Bearn would not need to bring a large army capable of overwhelming the defenses of Bayonne by raw force. Nip the treachery in the bud, and the attack, if any attack were planned, would fail. But would such a notion take root in the minds of men teetering on the edge of flight? Nonsense, flight was Fenice's notion, the first thing of which a woman would think, and a silly one at that.

With his mind on what he could do-ten men had come with them from Blancheforte, since the roads were not really safe in these unsettled times-Aubery drew Fenice closer. The apparent timidity, which predicted flight, had a.s.suaged his irritation. Ten men...there were fewer than ten gates to Bayonne. There was no question of his men defending any gate, but they could watch and report. That would serve well enough while he was in Bayonne, but what about after he left? Fenice stirred in his arm and kissed his shoulder. She was still sleeping on his right side now so that she should not accidentally roll against his bruised arm, although it was nearly healed.

"How can I make them believe that Bearn cannot bring a force strong enough to take the city unless he is given entrance by treachery?" Aubery muttered.

Because during her childhood the only place Fenice felt safe and comfortable was near Lady Alys, she had followed her stepmother like a shadow, and in doing so she had heard a great deal of adult conversation, much of it concerned with politics and political maneuvering. Because she was highly intelligent, Fenice had absorbed what she heard and had learned to draw conclusions quickly. It had been a game with her silently to guess what the right answer would be to the problems posed. Nor did Fenice fear to say what she thought, because Lady Alys's sharp mind was respected by both her husband and her father-by-marriage. Thus, she answered instinctively.

"Tell them that Castile is about to abandon him, that the king's envoys are well received, and the contracts for the marriage of Edward and Eleanor all but signed," Fenice replied sleepily. "Without Castile, how large an army can Bearn muster?"

Aubery's question had not been directed at Fenice. He was so astonished, both at the casual way she responded with a perfectly appropriate answer to that kind of question and also at the substance of her reply that he pulled back his head to look at her. It was a futile exercise, the light being too dim to make out an expression.

"Can that be true?" he asked. "Henry sent Roger BiG.o.d and Gilbert Seagrave off to England to get more men and money only about a month ago. He had them convinced that Alfonso was ama.s.sing men to move into Gascony. I cannot say your father agreed, but he said that men and money would be most welcome and he would not try to raise any doubts of Henry's sincerity."

"I did not hear Papa say anything about that or about the marriage, but Lady Alys told me that the Bishop of Bath and the king's special clerk, John Mansel, were dispatched from Bordeaux to negotiate with Alfonso in December. It is not so very far from Castile to Bordeaux, if King Henry's proposals were not well received, that news would have come already, and I think Lady Alys would have heard. If Alfonso is giving serious thought to the marriage, surely he would not lend a.s.sistance to Bearn."

"If he could conceal it... No, it does not matter. I am sure enough that there is some conspiracy to yield Bayonne to Bearn and that it is those who say they know him to be in Castile who lie. That is what I was sent to discover. Unfortunately, I do not believe Henry wishes to believe that, and when the king does not wish to believe a thing, it is best to have hard proof of it before one speaks."

"We have been here only three days," Fenice said soothingly. "In another four or five you should learn more."

But Aubery did not care to stay longer in Bayonne. He wondered why, and then began to wonder why he was so sure that Bearn would attack. Was it actually the false notes he heard in the voices that insisted Gaston was in Castile? Or was it fear he would be caught in a besieged city? Instinctively his arm tightened still harder around Fenice, and the tension in his muscles supplied an answer. He did not fear for himself but for her.

And where did that leave him? Had his fear clouded his judgment? No, because Fenice had come to the same conclusion from what she had heard among the women. So, Bearn was expected by some. There was no reason to think he would attack within the next few days, or was there? The warm tickle of lips under his ear distracted him. Fenice had received the wrong signal from the increasing strength of his hold on her. He should decide... Fingers traced the line of his breastbone, circled his navel. Decisions could wait.

Chapter Sixteen.

Although Aubery made no conscious decisions that night, the problems of Bayonne must have followed him into his sleep because he woke with a very clear notion of what he intended to do. He would use Fenice's suggestion about the portending marriage. He would take the chance and speak openly of the dangers of treachery to a city otherwise well able to drive away so light a threat as that Bearn could muster without the help of Castile, and he would, for his own and Fenice's protection, set his men to watching the ways into the city at night.

By the fourth day of their visit, Aubery found time to meet quietly with the active rather than honorary leaders of the town militia. They were not paid soldiers like the small force employed to guard the gates and quell riots should one occur, but were able-bodied male citizens of Bayonne sworn to defend their city in times of attack. Among them, Aubery found no disaffection, and it was with them that he discussed most fully the only real danger he felt threatened the city.

On the fifth day a hunt was planned. It was remarkably successful, so successful that a faint uneasiness pervaded Aubery's mind. He was not able to pick out what disturbed him immediately, largely because his longbow was so great a novelty that he spent most of the time not actively devoted to the hunt displaying it and demonstrating its powers. He was also distracted by the need to conceal his amus.e.m.e.nt over the chagrin of his companions at their lack of ability to master the weapon in a few minutes. Unlike the crossbow, where a hook held the bowstring and all a man's attention could be given to aiming, the longbow needed long practice to coordinate pull, aim, and elevation.

Then there was a feast to celebrate the hunt, and more discussion about the advantages and disadvantages of the longbow. It was not until the evening that Aubery realized what was troubling him. The game had not only been more plentiful than he expected, but it had a driven look. They had gone east of the town, into the hilly forested area, and was that not the direction in which the river narrowed? It must be, because to the west was the sea. That was no proof of anything, but if a large body of men were following the river valley, the game might be disturbed. And Bearn's chief keeps were to the east.

Aubery noted the fast-failing light of the short winter day, said hastily to Fenice that he had forgotten he had promised to speak to Pierre de Roset, and went out. He was not aware that she knew Roset was not in Bayonne, or he would have chosen another name. Actually he went to warn the men who watched the entries to the city to be especially alert and sent others to the captains of the militia to meet him at a wineshop where he spoke of his suspicions. It could do no harm, he pointed out, to tell their men to be ready. If he were mistaken, they would lose no more than a night's rest.

He debated whether to return to his apartment, remembering how Matilda had impeded him when he had to make ready to go to war. It had not mattered, except for the pain he suffered at seeing her great distress, because he had never been responding to an emergency. This time he might need to arm in a few minutes. To have a wife weeping and pulling at him and perhaps interfering with the man-at-arms trying to help him would be more than a slight nuisance.

Then he sighed. He must have his armor, and to send a man to fetch that without explanation would make matters worse. He had no experience of Fenice's reaction to an actual call to war. He had not left for La Reole from Blancheforte but from the camp outside Bordeaux and had not told her on his final visit that he would not soon return again. She had grown accustomed to his coming and going from the camp and made no more of their final parting than of earlier ones. Perhaps, Aubery thought hopefully, she would have grown tired of waiting for him and be asleep.

This hope was not fulfilled. Aubery was aware of that much before he actually entered the apartment, because he saw the antechamber ablaze with candlelight as he came to the door. He hesitated, listening, but there was no sound. Perhaps she had gone to bed and left the lights for him. Stepping softly inside, he was disappointed once more, for although Fenice had replaced her clothing with a bedrobe and loosened her hair, she was there, waiting for him. A small embroidery frame was in her lap and her needle was in her hand, but her head was turned so that she could watch the dancing flames in the hearth.

Fenice's initial reaction to Aubery's patently false excuse about seeing Pierre de Roset had been shock at the blatant lie, her next was a raging jealousy. That, fortunately, had not lasted long. There had been something in Aubery's expression that did not fit with an intention to engage in light dalliance. Then why had he lied to her? The answer to that question had been a wave of terror against which the dying jealous rage was a poor defense.

The only time her father lied to Lady Alys was to spare his wife anxiety about his safety. Then Aubery must have felt there was danger-now, this very night. Fenice's clasped hands had pressed hard against her body just under her breast as if the pressure could still the fluttering of her heart. Her first impulse had been to run after Aubery and draw him back with her to safety, but that was only a single, hopeless pulse of raw emotion. Even while it lasted she had not moved.

She had examples enough of how a woman should behave, both good and bad. She had been witness to her grandmother's protests when she discovered Raymond was going to war, the weeping and shrieking that only made her father furious. She had seen his grat.i.tude and tenderness for Lady Alys who pretended that her face was not bone white with fear, made no complaint, even smiled and armed him with her own hands. And Aubery had been angry when she had only exclaimed over his bruise. If she acted the fool before he was hurt, he would regard her with the impatience and contempt her father showed for Lady Jeannette in any crisis.

Slowly, Fenice had gathered herself together and moved toward the bedchamber where the maids waited. Danger could only come from an attempt by Gaston de Bearn to take Bayonne. But Aubery would not have gone to meet a danger of invasion without his arms. Fenice drew a deep breath. For this moment, then, the danger was not physical, and that knowledge cleared her mind. The maids should not be in the apartment when Aubery returned. It was not likely he would bring those he went to seek back with him, but if he did, or wished to tell her something that should not be overheard, there should be no ears and eyes. The girl Lady Alys had sent with her was safe, but it would be unwise to keep her and dismiss the others.

Fenice had had herself undressed, said she would attend to her husband herself since he would not be back until late, and sent the women away. Then she had taken her work and sat down beside the fire. Before the women left, one of them had replenished the fuel, and the flames leapt cheerfully, chuckling and cackling as they drew the fresh logs into their bright embrace. There was comfort in their fire song, lively greediness, and in the sparks that danced gaily upward. "To think ill brings ill" was an old saying. Fenice allowed herself to be soothed.

Having seen his wife, Aubery abandoned stealth and came forward into the room. Fenice turned and smiled with apparent calm, laid aside the work in which she had set no new st.i.tch, and got up to close the door. "Will there be an attack tonight?" she asked when she was sure her question would not be overheard.

"Why do you ask that?" Aubery countered sharply.

"You lied to me, saying you would speak with Pierre de Roset," Fenice said. "I knew he had left Bayonne yesterday. Papa only lies to Lady Alys to save her from worry." She shook her head. "It does not help. It only makes her worry more. I would prefer to know the truth."

Aubery stared at her, hardly believing his ears. She was too clever and too bold by half to come so near the truth on so small a piece of evidence and to fling the word "lie" into his teeth. So she would prefer to know the truth, would she? "I do not know it to tell you," Aubery said, but having been challenged, he described briefly what he had seen and surmised.

Fenice listened with downcast eyes, nodding mute acceptance of the points he made and fighting her fear. That she raised no additional challenge to his a.s.sumptions soothed him, for he had been shaken by this renewed reminder of her cleverness. Fenice's calm should have been an additional relief in that it a.s.sured him he would not need to endure the emotional upheaval he had feared. In a way he was pleased, but there was an odd sense of dissatisfaction too. Irritably, he turned away and said he would go to bed. There was no sense in sitting up and waiting for an alarm that might never come.

But it did come. Not long after the sliver of moon had set, Fenice heard the tolling of a church bell. She stiffened, for although she had been lying still, feigning sleep, she was wide awake and immediately aware that the irregular jangling could not be a ringing of the hours of prayer. It was an alarm. Beside her, Aubery slept peacefully. She considered for a moment continuing her own pretense of sleep but knew it would be useless. Soon there would come a hammering on the door, a shouting that would wake her husband and draw him out to danger, no matter what she did. All that pretense would accomplish would be to shorten the time he would have to arm himself. She stifled one hopeless sob and shook Aubery's arm.

He was instantly awake, completely alert, being accustomed to sleeping more lightly when he knew action was imminent. He heard the bell at once and grinned with satisfaction at having guessed so well. Fenice drew on her bedrobe. By then, he had pulled on his shirt, chausses, and tight mail leggings. Fenice helped him into arming tunic and hauberk, but he shook his head as she offered the cuirie. In the narrow streets of the town he might be fighting on foot and preferred the greater lightness and freedom to the extra protection that would offer.

She was fixing his ailettes when the pounding on the door began. Aubery shouted that he was coming and that Draco, his destrier, should be saddled. He s.n.a.t.c.hed his sword belt from Fenice's shaking hands and buckled it himself as he strode toward the antechamber. Fenice followed. Her bare feet were silent, but he heard her gasping breath and turned.

"Go back to bed," he said. "There is nothing to fear. I will send some men to guard your door."

"Oh, no!" she cried. "I am not afraid. Take the men with you." He hesitated, and she added urgently, "My safety lies in your success."

That was so sensible that Aubery nodded. A few men-at-arms could not really provide much protection if the militia were overwhelmed. However, the remark had an effect Fenice had not intended by increasing Aubery's determination to drive off Bearn's men. He found his horse ready and rode eagerly after his guide, just able to keep to the center of the street by the wavering light of the torch the man carried. Draco's shod hooves sounded loud on the hard-packed earth, for this part of the town was silent. He and Fenice had been lodged in the center of Bayonne, near the mayor's house. As yet, the alarm had not penetrated this far, although a few houses showed lights, and once someone shouted a question from a window. Aubery replied with a bellow of "Arms! Take arms!"

In the dark it was difficult to tell direction, but a faint hum told Aubery that his guide had not mistaken the way. The sound increased, and now and again he could see a faint glow as a torch pa.s.sed somewhere ahead. Then there was a louder clamor, and from a side street an armed band burst into the wider road. Aubery shouted, "King Henry and Bayonne!" and the men ran on, calling the same battle cry. A moment later the gleam of torchlight was cast back from metal bosses and then from sword blades. He drew his own weapon and spurred his horse, calling warnings to the men ahead so that he would not ride them down.

He had arrived, it seemed, just in time, for the invaders were beating back the disorganized groups of militia who had arrived to oppose them. When Aubery's man first ran to give warning to the nearest captain, Bearn's men were entering only by the small postern opened for them. But as soon as the clamor of the alarm bell rang, some of them had rushed to open the main gate for their comrades. They were pouring in by the time Aubery arrived.

He saw instantly that there would be little chance for Bayonne's militia to break through and close the gates. The invaders were trained fighting men, and the militia, amateurs. However, it might be possible to use their very training against them. The men were forming up in companies as they came in to protect their way of entry and if it came to that, of retreat. If they could be contained in a limited area near the gate, not many more than had already entered could do so, and the militia could thrust them out again.

As the idea came to him, it must simultaneously have occurred to whoever was leading the invading troops. Several of the groups coalesced and began to move forward. Aubery roared a war cry and charged, the militiamen rushing after him.

Whatever Bearn's men had expected, they were clearly not prepared for a knight in full armor on a war destrier. There were shouts of consternation as Aubery rode in among them, and he struck down a man with each of four blows. Matters grew less simple then. He had little way of telling friend from foe after the militiamen thrust in among the invaders. It was like an imaged scene from h.e.l.l, the shouting, heaving men falling, rising, screaming-open mouths black, blood black-appearing and disappearing in the angry, uneven light of the flaring torches.

Torches were used as shields and weapons, too. Aubery saw a soldier with his surcoat in flames, and as he disappeared, shrieking with pain and terror, another soldier slashed at the torch and cut it in half so that it fell and was extinguished. Aubery roared a curse and, in turn, struck. He needed light, for he was judging whom to attack by the direction the men were facing and the quality of their armor. None of the militia wore mail, except the leaders, who could afford so costly a garment. The others wore good, hardened leather, some sewn with rings, and the short, round helmet in common use.

It was a problem that Aubery, on horseback, saw mostly the helmets, and they were virtually indistinguishable. It was too easy to strike first and see only as the victim fell that he was a Bayonnese. In an attempt to damage his enemies rather than his friends, Aubery could only drive Draco forward, ahead of the militiamen, so that he would face only Bearn's men.

A soldier swung a sword at the horse, another threw a knife; Draco reared. Aubery leaned as far forward as he could and beat back the sword stroke, and Draco's flashing hooves took that man in the face and another on the shoulder. One man screamed, but the other could not, drowning in his blood. As the horse's hooves connected, Aubery allowed himself to fall back onto the saddletree and flung his left arm outward, catching the knife-thrower's sword slash on his shield, howling with pain as his bruised arm and shoulder absorbed the shock but bringing the shield up swiftly nonetheless so he could use its edge to strike that man down.

Forward again, Draco whinnied as a sword struck his leather armor. But he took his own revenge too quickly for Aubery to see the man who had struck the blow, for Aubery himself was striking right and left. Then the invaders turned and ran back to their companions, and Aubery bellowed at the Bayonnese not to follow, blocking a few foolhardy souls and using the flat of his sword to discourage unwise heroism.

Then there was a moment to look around. His own man, who had acted as guide, was still beside him, a little to the right, just clear of any forward kick Draco might deliver. But to his surprise, there were several more of the troop he had dispersed to act as watchers and messengers. He beckoned them closer and told them to find the militia captains and make sure they understood that the invaders must be kept from spreading into the town. Carts and lumber must be seized from the nearest places in which they were available, and used for barricades, defenders must enter all houses between the barricades and the gate and be prepared to hold them against the invaders.

Aubery had been too busy fighting to notice that many more militiamen had converged toward the sounds of battle. The area was almost bright with torchlight, and he was able to recognize two of the captains he had met. He shouted the same orders to them that he had given the men. Meanwhile, east and west, noise of conflict was rising. Foiled in their attempt to open the main avenue, Bearn's men were obviously trying to force a pa.s.sage through the smaller lanes. Aubery demanded a volunteer to lead him through the side streets, and half the men who heard offered themselves. He chose the nearest and just in time remembered that these were not disciplined soldiers.

"No one else is to leave here," he roared, "unless a captain calls for help. They will attack here again as soon as you try to set up your barricades."

He would have liked to be able to explain that one group should hold back the attackers while another build the barricades, but the sounds to the east seemed to be moving deeper into the town faster than he liked. Signaling his guide, he turned Draco in that direction, muttering curses under his breath as the top of his shield banged against his sore shoulder. Now he realized it had been happening since the fighting had stopped. Without thinking, he had released his hold on his shield, which naturally was moving loosely as it hung from the arm strap, to grab the horse's reins so he could curb Draco to keep him from savaging the Bayonnese. At least, he thought with wry humor, he would have a good excuse for returning to his overlord in worse condition than he had left.

The thought was nearly more true than he intended when five men burst from an alley into the narrow street his guide had entered. The young militiaman was struck down at once and his torch extinguished. Aubery hissed an obscenity, blinking rapidly a few times in the hope of adjusting to the dark more quickly. He could make out darker shadows moving. All five seemed to be converging on him. A swift glance behind confirmed that there was no hope of shelter, such as a still narrower alleyway into which he could back Draco, to avoid attack from the rear. He could only turn the horse sharply left, bringing him right up to the wall of the building so that he could not be attacked from that side.

One of the soldiers, apparently misinterpreting Aubery's defensive movement as an attempt to escape, called on him to dismount, and Aubery realized that luck was with him. He could only suppose that these men had also been blinded by the torch and had not really seen him as more than a man on a horse. Biting back his impulse to laugh, he held Draco steady for one long minute more. The pa.s.sive stance, another silent deception, drew the five in a bunch. A horse was a prize worth taking, and a man who could afford one and a torch-bearing guide would doubtless carry a fat purse.

Two carried those satisfactory thoughts to their deaths, swiftly dealt with one stroke of Aubery's sword. Another had a moment in which to feel terror as he saw Draco's bulk, a black shadow of infinite menace, rise over him. But he, too, died too swiftly to have regrets. The other two had time to curse themselves and to scream for help as they ran, to hear behind them a clatter as deadly to them as that made by the mounts of the Hors.e.m.e.n of the Apocalypse. Aubery struck one invader, then the other, but he did not attempt to determine how successful either blow was. It was more important to reach the fighting, which he could hear ahead.

This time, however, although he was welcome, it was clear his a.s.sistance was not necessary. The militia captain in charge knew his area. The invaders had been drawn along by a small group that seemed to flee into a more open square, where militiamen waited in every alley to rush out at them. They were now driving Bearn's men back. Aubery warned the captain of the groups that might break away into side streets and was a.s.sured that a group of soldiers would be sent out to patrol those ways.

Now Aubery asked for a guide again, this time to take him to the town wall. Each sector had its own captains and defenders, but if there was no work for them in their own part, they were sworn to come to the aid of any other sector that needed them. What Aubery feared was that the guards at more than one gate had been bribed and that the attack to which he had been summoned might have been a feint deliberately started early so that the defenders would concentrate there while Bearn's main force actually poured in at another point.

Aubery had, of course, warned the captains of this tactic, and they had a.s.sured him they would be wary, but the truth was that the knight-bred did not trust townsmen, whose main business might be woodworking or dyeing or goldsmithing rather than a lifelong training in the arts of war. He did find battles going on at two other gates, but both seemed to be attempts by detachments from the original group to overwhelm the gate guards from the inside. In both battles, the advent of a full-armed knight on horseback brought almost immediate submission of the attackers. In these cases, it was less owing to Aubery's prowess than to the fact that Bearn's men expected a full troop of men to be following him.

Dawn was just far enough advanced to eliminate the need for torches when Aubery returned to the main site of action. Toward the west, from which he had come, there was no longer any fighting. The invaders had been contained and in most places pushed back. Aubery could not understand why they had not withdrawn. Perhaps, he thought, they expected reinforcements. They seemed very determined to hold the gate, and if they wanted it, Aubery felt they should not have it. From a very narrow lane to the west, he looked quickly around the open area fronting the gate and sighed with relief. His troop was near where the main street entered, backed defensively against, the buildings at the corner. There was fighting all around them, but they were allowing the militia to do it.

He loosened his rein a trifle to allow Draco to move out to where the buildings would not block his voice and bellowed Raymond's battle cry. It was distinctive enough to identify him, but he was a little afraid his voice would not carry over the sounds of battle. To his relief, the men's heads turned in his direction. He allowed Draco, who was snorting and shaking his head in his frustration at being held back from charging, to take another few steps forward and waved his sword. The men pushed out from the building, using just enough force to make their way, and came toward him in a compact wedge that protected a pair in the center. When the men arrived, he saw those two were wounded.

"I thought I told you to stay out of the fighting until I needed you," Aubery said, but his tone was indulgent.

Both looked sheepish and a.s.sured him that they were not hurt too badly to give a good account of themselves. This was probably true, but Aubery said that for their sins they would be punished by serving as messengers again. They were to go east, keeping to the outskirts of the fighting as much as possible, try to reach any of the captains of the militia, and tell them that Sir Aubery would try to take the gate. They were to ease off the fighting until his charge and then come to his a.s.sistance with all the power they had.

The men looked startled, glancing uneasily from their master to the area by the gate. None of the militia had penetrated that far, and there must have been twenty-five or thirty of Bearn's men who had retreated to catch their breath. Some were wounded, but some were almost fresh, stationed there to protect the line of retreat. It was crazy to think that one mounted knight and eight men-at-arms could drive off so strong a force. But Sir Aubery was looking at the forces arrayed against them, too, grinning.

Silently, the small troop consulted each other with their eyes. Sir Aubery must know something they did not, each man thought, his spirits rising. Then Aubery beckoned them closer and explained what they were to do. It was a crazy plan-wild. Their experience told them that it was very likely they would all be killed, but there was something so light, so gay and sure, in their master's manner, that they became convinced they could do it and smiled in turn.

Aubery watched the sky. It was true dawn now, pink fingers of light stretching outward on the undersides of the clouds. It was growing brighter very fast. The fighting had been going on for four, perhaps five hours. Everyone was tired, everyone except Draco and Aubery's own men, who had done very little.

A slight change in the noise in the square drew his eyes, and he grinned. It seemed that his men had reached enough of the captains who still had control of their troops. The militiamen, some of them, at least, were pulling back, not much, not fast, just enough to ease the tight packing somewhat and draw with them the fighting groups most deeply engaged. Aubery knew he had only moments before Bearn's men realized what was happening and fell back into an even tighter defensive posture. He lifted his sword, roared an order, and loosened Draco's reins, spurring him for even greater impetus.

The destrier burst out of the alley mouth, with Aubery roaring like a crazed animal on his back. Men fell away from the horse's path, some voluntarily, some felled by his charge. In Draco's wake came Aubery's men in four pairs, also yelling at the top of their lungs and striking left and right but not pausing for any real exchange. They shouted no recognizable battle cry, forcing their way toward the gate.

It was not very far, perhaps fifty feet north and one hundred or so east. In front of one of the gate doors, Aubery pulled Draco to a sudden halt, so that the stallion screamed with rage and reared. More men scattered as the horse came down, lunged, was checked, and reared again. Nor was Aubery himself idle. Anyone who moved too slowly out of his reach moved not at all afterward, and three of his men-at-arms hacked and lunged behind and to the side, still shouting at the tops of their lungs.

During this wild attack, the other five of Aubery's men had run in behind one great gate door and were pushing with all their strength. Those doors were hung so that they opened with reluctance but could be swung shut by a single man in case of a surprise attack. Most of the invaders who had been trying to defend their line of retreat by keeping the gates open had been driven away by Aubery's first rush. Those who had not were bowled aside, a few actually swept outside the walls, by the impetus given to the heavy door.

That had been the easy part, of course. The thud of the door as it slammed against the stone arch, the clang of its metal fittings as they were jarred, gave warning to any invader who did not already realize what had happened. There was a roar of rage and protest, and every man tried to make a concerted rush in that direction. Some intended to escape through the narrowed opening that promised freedom, but most were determined to win back the position that provided an opportunity either for retreat or reinforcements.