“Bind and guard this man,” Sit Richard directed John of Glynde. “Order the men to make ready at once to march for Tarring.”
“But if Sir Godfrey is a traitor…” Sir Andrew sputtered.
“I do not think it, Andrew,” Sir Richard soothed, “but you will watch him for me. Sir Godfrey,” Sir Richard continued, turning to him, “I do not disbelieve you, yet you must understand that we can take no chances. I will not ask you to give up your sword, but I must ask you to order your men to surrender their weapons. You know me. Upon my honor, if this is not a trap of your making, you will go free and your men with you, whatever the outcome of your meeting with Sir Adam.”
Sir Godfrey was stubborn, but he was neither mad nor an idiot. If he refused, Sir Richard would have no choice but to order his own men to disarm Sir Godfrey’s force. Sir Godfrey himself would be made a prisoner, and all would be lost. Biting his lips in fury, he agreed. His men were disarmed and ordered to ride in small groups between larger groups of Sir Richard’s and Sir Andrew’s troops. Sir Godfrey rode beside Sir Richard with Sir Andrew just behind. For some time, they went in silence until Sir Godfrey asked what Sir Richard intended to do if Jean’s story was true.
Sir Richard looked at him speculatively so that Sir Godfrey wondered whether he would refuse to answer, but after a moment he said, “I think I will simply present myself at the gate. I know the man-at-arms who was left in charge. If he greets me and my troop is permitted to enter, I will so do. Then, if Lady Gilliane is not in the hall to greet me, I will go up to her, assuming the man did speak the truth and she will need help.”
“But what if it is some kind of trap?” Sir Godfrey asked nervously.
“Sir Andrew and his men will remain outside to give warning to Sir Adam and also to see that no one gets out,” Sir Richard answered indifferently.
“That may not do you much good,” Sir Godfrey warned.
Sir Richard smiled at him. “I hope to live long yet, of course, but it is no great matter if I should not. If I should die in Sir Adam’s service, he will avenge me and will see that my wife and children are protected—aye, probably better than I could protect them myself. He is that kind of man.”
Sir Godfrey thought that over for a few minutes, then said, “Whatever happens at Tarring, I swear I had no part in it, but I would like to come in with you. I will even give you my sword if you desire and unarm myself. The thing is,” Sir Godfrey smiled wryly, “I think I would have more chance, disarmed and caught in a trap, than with Andrew. To explain to him…”
“Very well.” Sir Richard laughed, “We will go in together. Keep your sword and your armor. I cannot be in worse trouble if this is a trap of your making. If it is not, likely you can do me some good.” They came over a low rise, and Sir Richard looked down at Tarring town. “It looks quiet enough,” he remarked, signaling the men to turn right to avoid the town and head toward the keep above it.
Two miles away to the west, Adam gestured for Alberic to come up to him. The ride from Kemp in the fresh spring air had cleared his head, and he was suddenly impatient to see Gilliane. He had been content in the company of men over the past month. There had been moments of frustration, of unfulfilled physical need, but these were easier to bear than in the past. Partly this was because Adam’s days were so full of strenuous activity that he was tired by the time he sought his bed. Mostly, however, it was because his mind was quiet, because he knew that when he came back to Tarring, Gilliane would be there, as eager for him as he was for her. The weeks of living together easily as husband and wife, even though the union was not yet official, had drawn the poison of doubt out of him.
Neither his love nor his passion was less strong. When he thought of Gilliane, he wanted only to be with her, to talk to her, to laugh with her, and the blood still rushed to his loins. Now, however, the sensation made him happy. He smiled even while he cursed the situation that prevented him from satisfying his need. There was a contentment in his memories of long, loving nights abed, of companionable days. The fever, anxiety, and bitterness were gone, and Adam could long for Gilliane as Ian and Geoffrey longed for their wives, with aching desire but with confidence. The uneasy craving, the half-shamed mental writhings that sought a way to get Gilliane were over. A brief memory of those hasty, crazy couplings made Adam laugh.
Then Adam realized that with the arrival of Sir Richard and the others, he would be back in the old situation. No, he resolved. Enough was enough. It was at that point that he signaled Alberic to him and gave him instructions about bringing the footmen to Tarring. He would ride ahead with Cuthbert and a few mounted men. He would have this matter out with Gilliane right now and announce to her vassals and castellans his intention of marrying her as soon as her marriage contract to Osbert could be annulled. Once the contract was written and they were formally betrothed, there would be no need to hide their relationship. Although the Church insisted that betrothal was not marriage and a priest’s blessing was necessary, Gilliane’s men would not be so strict.
Sometime earlier, Gilliane rose from her knees beside the still-unconscious form of Catrin, whom she had bound and gagged according to Osbert’s instructions. The operation had taken a long time, and it had taken Osbert a full ten minutes to get her to begin. At first Gilliane had stared blankly at her husband, her lips moving slightly, her hand clutching the cross that hung around her neck. Osbert had spoken soothingly to her, assuring her over and over of his good will. He was afraid her fear would rise out of bounds and that she would begin to scream in hysterical terror despite the threat of his naked sword. Her screaming would be dangerous. The sound would carry through the open window and bring curious servants even if he silenced her quite soon.
For Osbert’s purpose, the naked sword was an empty threat. He did not dare inflict any wound on Gilliane until after she had dealt with the guards at the postern. He did not dare knock her unconscious, either, for fear she would not regain her senses in time to serve that purpose. Thus, he had to convince her he meant her no harm. He could afford the time to talk to her softly. It would take time for Jean to reach the camp of the men from Pevensey, and then more time for them to arrive at Tarring.
Finally, Gilliane’s hand dropped away from the cross. Osbert took that as a sign that her panic had subsided into submission. He ordered her to drag Catrin away from the door and bind and gag her. Gilliane had just looked at him when he gave the order. Osbert resumed his soothing, but it had no further effect.
“I will have to kill her if you do not bind her,” Osbert said at last.
He intended to kill Catrin anyway, but he did not want to do it then because the sight of the blood might send Gilliane into hysterics. Slowly, very slowly, as if she were drugged or half stunned, Gilliane did as he ordered, binding Catrin’s mouth with a veil, her wrists with another, her feet with a third. Osbert watched, but he had no fault to find with Gilliane’s work. He did not realize that the cloth was so soft, so loose woven, and the veils so thick, wound round and round Catrin’s wrists and ankles, that if the woman pulled strongly everything would loosen and the knots would roll over her hands and feet to set her free. He only noticed that, after her first wide-eyed stare, Gilliane did not look at him. That gave him only satisfaction. It fed his conviction that Gilliane was terrified into docility.
Osbert was more mistaken about his second conclusion than about the fact that Catrin was well tied. Gilliane’s face and form were unchanged, but Osbert did not know the new woman inside the old shell. It was not fear that made Gilliane grip her cross and pray, but joy. God had delivered her enemy into her hands, and she had thanked Him full measure and overflowing. Her slow reactions were not a result of paralysis but of thought. What in the world did Osbert expect to accomplish in a keep filled with people who Gilliane knew would spring to her defense?
Gilliane did not need to wonder about it long. Osbert told her. Since he knew how long it would take for the troop from Pevensey to arrive, he could not resist boasting of his cl
everness to Gilliane. At first she stood quite still, her eyes on the maid near her feet. As the plan unfolded, she closed her eyes and took her lip between her teeth. From time to time a shudder passed through her body. Osbert preened himself on her acceptance of the inevitability of his victory.
What was really agonizing Gilliane was her struggle with mirth. She did not know which was funnier—the fact that Osbert did not know of the defeat at Lincoln and, therefore, that no one could be coming from Pevensey, or that, even if there were men coming, her vassals and castellans were converging on Tarring in considerable force that very day. If the men Osbert’s scouts had seen were not merely a French force fleeing to safety in London and were from Pevensey, they would be caught between Tarring keep and Gilliane’s men.
Gilliane would have laughed aloud in Osbert’s face, except that she wanted to keep him off his guard. God had delivered him into her hands, but she had not yet decided how to kill him and did not want to lose any advantage she had. Gilliane was no expert in battle tactics, but she understood that his overconfidence and belief in her submission were two strong weapons in her hands.
Unfortunately, at this point Osbert decided it was time for Gilliane to play her part in the scheme and draw the guards from the postern into the stable where Osbert’s men would overpower them and take their armor. He announced this in a voice of such calm, bland certainty that he surprised Gilliane out of her rigid self-control. Helplessly, she burst into laughter, gasping, “You ass! You braying, long-eared ass!”
Had Osbert not been exactly what Gilliane said, the mistake would have cost her dear. She was at the moment close enough for him to grasp her, and she might have suffered severely for her lack of control. There are places to hurt a woman that do not show when she is clothed. However, Osbert was as much surprised by Gilliane’s reaction as she had been by his stupidity, and her understanding of her mistake and her reaction time were quicker. Before the full implications of what Gilliane had said sank into Osbert’s mind, she had scrambled across the bed and was safe on the other side, hidden from him by the bed curtains.
Osbert uttered a shriek of rage and rushed around the foot of the bed after her. In his fury, he might well have used his sword, forgetting his need and his purpose. However, Gilliane knew the effect of frustration on Osbert. She had often been pummeled and kicked when his father or brother had denied him something. After attaining the temporary sanctuary, Gilliane had wasted no time in seeking something with which to defend herself. Her knife was across the room in a chest behind Osbert, which was just as well because Gilliane would have grabbed for that instinctively and it would have been no defense against a sword.
Since she knew her usual weapon was beyond reach, Gilliane’s mind was free. She needed something long and strong to hold Osbert off. Even as she cursed herself for being as big an ass as he, she grasped the candlestick that held the night candle by the bed. It was taller than she and strong enough, being made of twisted bars of wrought iron. It also had the advantage of a long, sharp point upon which the thick night candle was impaled. Gilliane tore off the candle and threw it into Osbert’s face as he came around the end of the bed. It was then that the disadvantage of the candlestick became plain. It was far too heavy for Gilliane to use as a weapon. She could tilt it forward and keep Osbert far enough away. She could even lift it and thrust with it briefly, but it was much too unwieldy and unbalanced to be held for any time or swung freely to block sword thrusts.
For a man of ordinary courage and skill, the candlestick would not have been much of an obstacle. If he wanted Gilliane alive, he had only to sheathe his sword, wrench the candlestick from her grasp, and grab her. If her death was his aim, he could grasp the candlestick in his left hand and swing his sword freely with his right. Osbert, however, made a rabbit seem like a lion in comparison to himself. Moreover, his mind was fixed into his own daydream of success. He had worked everything out to his own satisfaction, over and over for months. It had to come out that way. More particularly, he could not believe that Gilliane would oppose him.
Gilliane was so furious with herself that, as soon as the immediate need for self-defense had been satisfied, she began to cry with vexation. How could she have been so stupid! Why had she not simply agreed? As soon as they came into the bailey, Osbert would have been seized by her men-at-arms. He could not have walked out of her chamber holding a sword in his hand. Even if he pressed a knife against her, she could probably have got away without being hurt. No merchant would dare touch or hold the lady of the manor. Every manservant in the house would have fallen upon Osbert in outrage. Gilliane had not thought about it because she did not want Osbert taken prisoner by the men-at-arms. She wanted to kill him herself!
Osbert had been hissing obscenities at her. Now he changed over to threats. Gilliane’s eyes roved wildly, seeking a better weapon. She did not see that, but through the parting of the bed curtains she saw the latch of the door lifting. It was too late! Someone was coming. She would be rescued, but Osbert would be taken prisoner. Adam would challenge him, but Gilliane knew Osbert would never agree to fight and Adam would probably not simply order him to be killed. If only she could prove that Osbert was a murderer. He could be judged and executed for that—but there was no proof.
“Murderer!” Gilliane shrieked in frantic frustration, just as the door opened. “Do you think you can stand by that window, where I saw you throw poor Gilbert to his death, and tell me to obey you? I would rather die!”
“Poor Gilbert!” Osbert sneered, so intent on Gilliane that he did not see the door open and the two men standing transfixed on the threshold. “What if I did throw him out? He was dead already, really. You cannot call throwing a corpse out of a window murder.”
“He was not!” Gilliane cried. “He was getting better!”
“If you cared so much,” Osbert snickered, with a nasty grin, “why did you not denounce me?”
Gilliane had not heard another sound from the door and dared not glance at it again. She assumed a maid had opened it and, seeing Catrin bound or Osbert with a drawn sword, had fled to bring help. She was surprised that the woman had not cried out, but was grateful for that because it gave her one last chance to rid herself of Osbert.
“Because I wish to kill you myself!” Gilliane screamed, taking a good grip on the candlestick and charging forward suddenly.
She had the point against Osbert’s chest and had actually borne him backward a couple of steps. Knowing what a coward he was, Gilliane had hoped shock and fear would make him drop his sword. Instead, he swung wildly with it. He did not strike Gilliane, but, in ducking, she lost her grip upon the candlestick and stumbled to her knees. A double roar of rage from the doorway brought a scream of terror from Osbert and made him abort the second blow he had aimed at Gilliane. Desperately, Gilliane got to her feet and grasped the candlestick again. She was just in time to prevent Osbert from running to hide under the bed. He uttered a second scream of fear and did drop his sword, but it was too late for that. Sir Richard and Sir Godfrey charged, their intentions unmistakable. One blow struck him, but glancingly. Gilliane lunged forward again fiercely. Backing away, screaming hysterically, Osbert toppled against the sill of the open window and went out.
Gilliane, Sir Richard, and Sir Godfrey stood panting, staring at one another. Before any of them could gasp out a single word, a familiar bellow came up from the bailey below.
“Adam!” Gilliane cried, and burst between the two men to run headlong down the stairs.
Since Adam had run equally precipitously upward, they met in the hall. Sir Richard and Sir Godfrey, following behind Gilliane as swiftly as they could, were treated to the interesting sight of an overlord clasping his vassal to his breast and covering her with kisses, between which he asked disjointedly what had happened and whether she was unhurt, and never gave her time to reply because of kissing her again. Equally disjointedly, Gilliane strove to tell Adam about Osbert. He could not really follow what she said, there being scarce
time for two consecutive words before his mouth closed on hers once more—and Gilliane made no effort to change the situation. To her way of thinking, it was far more important to kiss Adam than to explain what had happened to Osbert.
Eventually, however, Gilliane got Osbert’s name out.
“Osbert!” Adam roared. “Was that de Cercy?”
As Adam rode into the inner courtyard, he had seen a man fall from the window of Gilliane’s chamber. Sensibly, he had not stopped to investigate who it was but had rushed up to discover whether Gilliane was in danger. The dead man, whoever he was, would not go away.
“He sneaked in disguised as a merchant,” Gilliane gasped.
“He nearly killed Lady Gilliane,” Sir Richard exclaimed.
“He admitted murdering de Neville,” Sir Godfrey growled.
Adam’s head swung from one to the other and fixed on Sir Godfrey. “Who the devil are you?” he asked.
“This is Sir Godfrey, come to do homage to Lady Gilliane,” Sir Richard began. “He—”
“Come to do homage?” Adam roared. “Now? After I—”
“Sir Godfrey is welcome to me now and at any time,” Gilliane said, loud and clear.
Adam’s face turned a fascinating shade of purple. Sir Godfrey gritted his teeth but did not reach for the sword he had sheathed. It was too late for that. If Sir Richard had been able to talk to Sir Adam in quiet circumstances, perhaps he would have seen reason. In the midst of all this furor, so young a man was bound to act hastily.
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 46
