When the trapdoor was uncovered, he knew at once that it did not serve a mere storeroom for herbs. The door was too large, the carpentry too careful. It fitted snugly and firmly in place. Ralph eased back the bolts and lifted the door back on its hinges. His candle disclosed stone steps, which curled down into the ground. He was circumspect. Leaving the trapdoor open, he went down the steps with patient curiosity, using the candle to illumine the walls on both sides of him.
Reaching the bottom, he found himself in a subterranean passage that obliged him to duck as he moved along. After only a few yards, his thigh touched something and he drew back at once, snatching out his dagger to ward off an attack. The candle flame revealed his assailant to be no more than a large chest, set into a cavity in the wall. When he saw the size of the chest and its formidable array of locks, he was reminded of Toki’s visit to the castle. He had come in search of some kind of hoard. The chest was certainly capacious enough to hold it, and no treasure could be more securely guarded than this.
Ralph pressed on along the passage, following its twists and turns until he had no sense of where he might be in relation to the keep. He walked on until he came to a metal door that was reinforced with thick hasps. When he tried to open it, the door would not budge a fraction.
Since there was no sign of a key, he wondered if someone had been through the exit to lock it from the outside. He was convinced that he had come under the castle walls and that the door gave concealed access to the city. The problem of how midnight visitors entered the keep was now solved.
A noise behind him made him grab his weapon again and he had a sensation of panic as he thought it might be the lions. To be caught in such a confined space by Romulus and Remus would be a nightmare.
Escape would be unthinkable and his dying cries would go unheard.
He had a vision of Golde, waking to find the bed beside her empty, going demented when she saw his blood-stained remains hauled out of the tunnel. It made him hurry back the way he had come.
There was nobody there and his confidence quickly seeped back.
Stopping beside the chest once more, he ran a meditative hand over it before continuing on to the steps. He never thought he would be so grateful to climb back into a lions’ cage but he did so with a sigh of relief. Setting down his candle, he used both hands to lower the trapdoor into position and slide the bolts home.
The candle saved his life. As its flame danced violently in the sudden displacement of air, he was given a split-second warning of the attack.
Someone had charged up on him from behind. When a coil was thrown around his neck, Ralph instinctively put up his hands to work his fingers inside it. His assailant was strong and determined. The noose tightened inexorably. The man put his knee in the small of Ralph’s back to apply even more pressure.
There was a dagger in his belt but it was out of reach. Ralph needed both hands to prevent the breath from being squeezed out of him. He tugged at the coil but it was cutting into his fingers. Ralph knew that he was up against Tanchelm’s assassin. The man had killed before with vicious effectiveness but he did not have a sitting target this time. Ralph was more powerful and resourceful than Tanchelm of Ghent.
Throwing his legs out in front of him, Ralph dropped to the floor and pulled his assailant down after him. The suddenness of the move deprived the man of his grip and Ralph was able to tear the noose away. But the escape was only temporary. As Ralph rolled over, the man dived on top of him to grip his throat in both hands. A thumb seemed to burrow deep into Ralph’s windpipe and he began to choke.
Punching at the man with one hand, he used the other to grasp the dagger and lunge upwards.
With a yell of pain, the man rolled away, knocking over the candle and extinguishing its pale flame. Ralph had wounded him in the side but it only served to inflame the attacker and he came hurtling out of the darkness. Trying to rise from the floor, Ralph was knocked flying again and the weapon spun out of his hand. Powerful arms enfolded him once more and the men grappled wildly, threshing about in the rushes as they sought for the hold that would end the contest.
His adversary squeezed, punched, scratched, gouged and even bit him in an attempt to subdue him but the advantage had been shifted now. Ralph had superior strength and a greater surge of purpose. A fight that had lasted for several long minutes was over in an instant.
As they grappled once more, Ralph flipped him onto his stomach, put a knee in his back, then used both hands to pull back his head. There was a loud crack and the man’s neck broke.
Ralph clambered up and stood panting over his opponent. He needed no light to identify the man. The would-be assassin was Ludovico, the keeper of the beasts. His chosen weapon was the whip that had strangled Tanchelm of Ghent.
Olaf Evil Child had never had a decision challenged before and it embittered him. Men who owed their lives to his leadership were now daring to contest it. What caused him the most pain was the fact that Eric, his closest friend, was now speaking against him. The giant waved a massive fist.
“We will not go, Olaf!” he announced.
“But it is for our own good, Eric.”
“I will surrender to nobody!”
“Nor me!” said a voice.
And a dozen more rushed to endorse its affirmation.
They were seated around the campfire at night. Olaf looked at them with disgust. Living as nomads had bonded them strongly together and taught them how much they relied on each other. Each man brought his own skills to the band but it was Olaf who had turned those individual skills to the best use. Without his guidance, they would never have survived so long. It was time to remind them of their obligations to him.
“Who brought you all together?” he demanded.
“You did,” said Eric.
“Who fed you and watered you? Who planned our raids? Who kept us out of reach of every search party that ventured out of York in pursuit of us?”
“You did,” repeated Eric.
“And was my advice sound?”
“Very sound.”
“So why ignore it now?”
“Because it smacks of weakness.”
“Weakness!” He leapt to his feet. “If anyone thinks that I am weak, let him test me here and now. That includes you, Eric. I am ready.
Who will be first?”
Embarrassed muttering broke out among the men. None of them responded to his challenge. Most looked away. Eric wiped the back of his hand across his lips.
“Nobody doubts your bravery,” he conceded.
“Thank you, Eric!”
“We all saw what you did to my lord Nigel.”
“I am glad that someone has remembered at last.”
“But we will not go into York with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because we are outlaws.”
“With a chance of pardon.”
“From Normans?” Eric was contemptuous. “Never! They will hang us first and pardon us afterwards.” Murmurs of general agreement went up. “You heard my lord Nigel. He would have cut you down without a second thought. They are all the same.”
“Gervase Bret is not.”
“He is only one man among many.”
“He gave us his word, Eric.”
“What use is that in a city as big as York? He carries no weight there. I’ll not put my future in the hands of a man with a bandage around his head.”
“Will nobody come with me?” pleaded Olaf.
“Yes,” said Ragnar Longfoot. “I will.”
“Then you are as mad as Toki,” said Eric.
Ragnar bridled. “Toki was the bravest man alive.”
“He was a hothead who threw that life away,” countered Eric. “Do you think we want to end up like him, Ragnar? No! I would rather feed off vermin out here than get eaten by lions in York.”
“Then you are a fool!” accused Olaf. “Feed off vermin and you become vermin.”
“At least we will stay alive.”
“
Roaming the wilderness? Stealing to survive? It has been bad enough already, Eric. How much worse will it be when winter settles in?” He made a last appeal. “That is a time when we need a roof over our heads and warm food in our bellies. When we need to be with our families.”
He walked across to crouch in front of Eric. “Gervase Bret has offered us a chance. A slim one, I grant you. And, yes, there are many dangers involved. But I am ready to trust him.”
“I am not, Olaf,” said his friend.
“Will you not trust me?”
“Not this time.”
He searched the faces around the campfire.
“Ragnar is with me,” he said. “Who else?”
Not a single voice was heard. Olaf was deeply hurt.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “We are done. You can stay here while I go to York to fight for my inheritance. If I die, you can all sneer at Olaf Evil Child and say how stupid he was. But if I win my land back-and yours, too, for you have been dispossessed-do not come snivelling to me with your thanks and your congratulations. I will not even hear you.” He untethered his horse from a bush and swuns himself up into the saddle. “Gervase Bret is only one man, it is true. But he had the courage to come looking for me without a troop of soldiers at his back.
I will now go in search of him.”
Olaf kicked his horse into a trot and rode out of the camp. Limping across the grass, Ragnar Longfoot mounted his own horse and went after him. By the light of the fire, Eric and the others looked at each other shamefacedly. Their leader had just turned his back on them.
Ragnar, meanwhile, caught up with his friend and rode alongside him. The journey had a special meaning for him.
“I go to see Toki’s grave to ask for his forgiveness.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Ragnar.”
“I believe there is.” He glanced over his shoulder. “If they had listened to Inga, they would be with us now.”
“Why?”
“She told me how fair-minded Gervase Bret was. He will not break a promise. Safe conduct, that was his guarantee.”
“For all of us, Ragnar. Not just you and me.”
“Do not take it to heart so.”
“Eric and I were like brothers. I cannot believe that he has forgotten all we have been through together. He and the rest of them will not last a week without me.”
“They are frightened, Olaf.”
“So am I.”
They rode on through the darkness at a canter with the stars to guide them. Two miles further along the road, they heard the first menacing clack of hooves. It seemed to come from their left. When they veered off to the right, another drumming sound met their ears.
Pursuers were closing in from both directions. Olaf and Ragnar went up a hill at a gallop and crested it to find thick cover on the slope beyond. Reining in their horses, they sheltered in the bushes in the hope of shaking off the chasing pack.
Fifteen or more horses came pounding over the hill to converge on their hiding place. They seemed to know exactly where to find them.
Olaf drew his sword and Ragnar had his spear at the ready.
A familiar, deep-throated laugh rang out.
“Is that you, Eric?” said Olaf hopefully.
“Yes,” confirmed the other. “You will never get to York alone. We thought you might need an escort.”
Olaf nudged his horse forward to embrace his friend.
“You are with us, then?” he said.
“A few yards behind you at least.”
“You will not regret it.” He waved an arm. “Onward!”
They set off in a tight bunch, drawing strength from their leader, glad to be united again. Eric nudged his horse up alongside Olaf Evil Child.
“We know the real reason for this journey,” he said.
“What is that?”
“You want to see Inga again!”
“I do!” admitted Olaf with a grin. “Who would not?”
“And will this Gervase Bret really help us?”
“He swore as much.”
“I do not doubt his word. Only his ability.”
“He and the others are royal commissioners, Eric. They are here on King William’s business.”
“Yes,” said Eric, “but King William is hundreds of miles away. His army is not here to enforce the decisions of his commissioners. We have another king here.”
“I know. Aubrey Maminot.”
“Can Gervase Bret and his friends prevail over him?”
“They must. Or we are all doomed.”
Aubrey Maminot took a last, guzzling kiss from her before stealing quietly out of the house. It was a short ride across the city and the morning air was refreshing. He felt as blithe and vigorous as a man half his age. She was right about him. He was her lion.
The first cockcrow heralded the approach of dawn, and other voices were soon raised in welcome. Aubrey turned his horse towards a make-shift stable not far from his castle. When the animal was tethered inside, he let himself out and walked towards a clump of thick bushes nearby. Making sure that he was unobserved, he stepped behind the bushes to find a metal door built into a grassy bank. One twist of the key let him in. His horse would be collected as usual by one of his men. Another night of blissful madness had gone as planned.
He needed no light to guide him. Locking the door from the inside by feel, he waddled happily along the tunnel until he came to the steps.
The trapdoor was wide open and two torches were throwing their light onto the cage. Standing ahead of him, ready to welcome his master, was the keeper of the beasts. Aubrey came into the cage and walked over to him.
“Ludovico!” he greeted. “Good morrow, my friend!”
The dead man fell forward into his arms and knocked him backwards. Ralph Delchard had been lifting the Italian up. When Aubrey saw that he was holding a corpse, he dropped him at once and stared down at him in horror.
“What happened?” he gasped.
“Ludovico tried to kill me,” said Ralph.
“Never!”
“The same way that he murdered Tanchelm. With his whip. He picked the wrong man this time.”
“This is terrible,” said Aubrey with apparent concern for his guest.
“Are you all right?”
“No thanks to Ludovico.”
“He attacked you?”
“From behind.”
“He must have thought you were an intruder.”
“He knew exactly who I was, Aubrey.”
“What were you doing?”
“The same as Tanchelm. Being too inquisitive.”
Aubrey gave himself a moment to gather his wits. He was like a commander who has just suffered an unexpected reverse on the battle-field. A new strategy was required. Combat was out of the question.
Ralph was wearing his armour and had a sword in his hand. Aubrey carried only a dagger. Guards could be called but they could not get into the keep past Romulus and Remus. His lions were separating him from help. His lion keeper would never be able to assist him again.
He stepped over the prone body of the Italian.
“Ludovico was stupid,” he said callously. “I told him he would come off second best against Ralph Delchard.”
“So will you, Aubrey.”
“We are not in competition.”
“Yes, we are.”
“We need not be. What is it you want, Ralph?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Tanchelm’s murder, for a start. Ludovico was the assassin but you set him on. You ordered his death.”
“You will never prove that in a court of law.”
“I will enjoy trying.”
Aubrey chuckled. “You will not even have the chance. Take a closer look into the courtyard. I have hundreds of men at my command. You have a handful. Arrest me, if you must. But you will never get me out of here.”
“Yes, I will.”
“How?”
“The same way that you
just came in.”
There was a long pause. Aubrey nodded in admiration.
“You have been inquisitive, Ralph,” he said. “What else did you see down there?”
“Enough.”
“I beg leave to doubt that.”
“It’s your secret entrance to the castle,” said Ralph. “The one you designed when it was rebuilt. Guarded throughout the day by the lions so that nobody will come anywhere near it.” He peered into the gloom.
“By the way, I found no herbs down there, Aubrey. That is a pity. You need something to take away the stink of high treason.”
“Ralph …”
“Tanchelm of Ghent was the first to suspect you.”
“He is gone. Forget him.”
“He was our colleague. His death must be requited.”
“It has been,” said Aubrey. “Ludovico paid in full. That account is settled. We must open a new one now.”
“No, Aubrey. It is all up for you.”
“I thought we were friends.”
“I do not consort with traitors!”
“Is that what you think I am?”
“We know it!”
“Do you?”
Aubrey walked calmly to the side of the cage and leaned against it.
Ralph covered his move with his outstretched sword. The castellan laughed. Taking out his dagger, he tossed it casually onto the floor.
“You do not need a weapon, Ralph. I am unarmed.”
“I will keep it drawn just the same.”
“Do you distrust me so much?”
“Yes.”
“And what charges do you bring against me? Murder? High treason?
I must be the Devil incarnate.”
“No, Aubrey. The Devil is more honest in his wickedness.”
“Let us examine the word ‘traitor,’ shall we?”
“You will examine it at the end of a rope.”
“I think not,” said the other, almost nonchalantly. “A traitor is a man who betrays his country. Is that what I have done, Ralph?”
“We believe so.”
“Ah, you only believe. A moment ago, you knew. ”
“Do not prevaricate. I have talked to your cook. He has told me about demands for food at odd hours of the night. I have questioned other members of your household. They have heard Danish voices more than once in here.”
“What does that signify?”
The Lions of the North d-4 Page 22
