Down the dimly lit stairs he went, into the maze of passages. One led to the unguarded dungeon. Another led past several storage rooms. Oil, cheese, wine, tallow, lard... just as rich and well stocked as Montarcher.
Having studied many patterns of tunnels, Artaud recognized a familiar floor plan. It resembled the underground design Melusine had made for one of his future castles. Had Damas stolen Melusine's drawings? Artaud would make him pay for that, too.
Identifying the layout, he easily guessed where Damas had fled. A stone door opened for him as he pushed a protruding stone. He plucked a torch from a wall sconce and followed a down slanted tunnel that must lead to an underground complex of rooms carved into the rock.
That would be where Damas had remained hidden for so long after he'd escaped Montarcher's dungeon. He must have lived there for months, with help from his family inside the castle.
Now careful not to signal his presence, Artaud stepped cautiously along the slippery tunnel, broken by a few sets of low stairs. Caliburn in one hand, torch in the other, he made his way toward the secret chambers. Something slick coated the floor underfoot... lamp oil, judging by the smell.
An acute stab folded Artaud in two. He froze, clenching sword and torch, paralyzed by the pain. By the horns of Mithras! What now?
Melusine's desperate cry in his head shattered his focus. Farewell, beloved, I have no strength left. I am dying this day and will not see the morrow.
Melusine was still alive! Hang in there, my love.
She could not die! Not now that they'd almost won.
The pain receded and Artaud straightened, glancing up and down the endless tunnel. Please, my love, you must live. I need you.
I cannot hold on. Farewell, sweet beloved. I shall see you in the great beyond.
Melusine! No. Please... I need you.
No response. Dear Goddess, I implore you, please, keep her safe.
But Artaud did not trust the Goddess as much as Melusine did. The love of his life would die despite his best efforts. Frustration made him want to roar, but what good would that accomplish? Damas's untimely attack had caused all this. All Artaud could do from here, was avenge Melusine's untimely death.
Dread in his heart at the thought of losing Melusine, righteous anger fueling his resolve, Artaud stepped resolutely toward Couzan's secret chambers.
* * *
Melusine could not survive one more of these contractions. She had struggled in labor so many hours, and still the babies refused to come. Her last bit of strength had vanished. She wanted to lie down and sleep forever. She would welcome sweet oblivion. She did not fear death. She would rather die than suffer this torture any longer.
As her mind wandered toward this place of eternal rest, the frantic summons of the midwife faded in the distance. Why should Melusine care about the fate of other mortals? She could die and be reborn... or not. Perhaps, death would end her curse.
As she welcomed the peace and quiet, two small voices intruded on her rest.
Mother, you cannot let us die. We deserve to live.
We have a destiny to fulfill.
Her babies? Her babies talked to her? Of course, they had Fae blood. My sweet sons... do not fear. The midwife will cut you out of my belly. Melusine just couldn't keep pushing.
No, Mother. You cannot die and let us live without you. Who will teach us about the mysteries?
Once born, as babes, we shall remember naught of our past lives, or of the Fae world.
Dear Goddess. Her innocent babes not only demanded to be born, but they wanted her to live, too. Melusine shuddered at the thought that she might have abandoned them. She could not let herself die. Her sons needed her... Artaud needed her.
With a tremendous effort, dipping into a reserve of strength she did not know she had, Melusine pushed with renewed ardor.
"That's it, m'lady," said the midwife with a joyous lilt in her voice. "Push... push... the baby's coming!"
* * *
Stopping to get his bearing at the door of the first secret chamber, Artaud inserted Caliburn's strong blade to break the metal latch, then pushed open the door without too much noise. He raised his torch to light the dark interior, and gaped at the scintillating sight. The vast chamber sparkled with piles of gold, like so much rubble. Nuggets, melted bricks, coins, and a few precious gold vessels. All reflected the flame of Artaud's torch, twinkling like under a bright sun.
No wonder Damas could afford castle and armies. He'd stolen with impunity for many years, probably from Artaud's father before him.
Closing the door again, Artaud moved cautiously to the next room. That door was barred from the inside. From what he remembered of the floor plan, that room was a vault, with no other exit... and someone hid inside.
His gut told him it wasn't Damas, but someone else hiding in there. No matter. Artaud silently locked the outside latch, making sure whoever hid inside did not escape. He'd deal with that coward later.
Following his instincts, he moved silently to the next door. That particular room should have another exit, an escape tunnel. The perfect hiding place for Damas, so he could flee to the countryside if discovered. Hoping no one had detected him, Artaud pushed the door gently, but it resisted. Inserting Caliburn's blade as a lever between the door and the stone frame, he popped the inside latch, then pushed the door open.
Standing near a trestle table upon which full saddlebags lay, Damas froze and stared at Artaud, as if he'd just seen a ghost. Behind him stood his wife, wide-eyed. She shoved their young son behind her.
"Surprised to see me?" Artaud stepped inside, enjoying his effect on the knave and his family.
"How did you get through the keep?" Damas glared at him in the torchlight. "I set it on fire. If I can't have my castle, no one else will." Damas edged toward the smooth wall hiding the secret door to the escape tunnel.
Artaud kicked the trestle table to cut his retreat. It collapsed in front of the secret door. Then Artaud threw his torch on it and it started burning, effectively barring Damas's escape with a wall of fire.
Damas faced Artaud, uncertainty in his steely eyes.
"Fight, coward," Artaud edged him on. "You are good at sending men to their death, but you refuse to face me one on one? Draw your sword and fight, or I'll have you executed for all the misery you brought upon my people."
"You cannot kill me," Damas said in a strangled voice, still not drawing his sword. "The archbishop and the pope support my claim to Forez. If you kill me, they'll send against you all the armies of Christendom."
"You are a traitor, a murderer, and a thief. You do not deserve to be Count of Forez. As long as I live, I will not let you."
The burning table ignited the thin coating of oil on the stone floor. Thick black smoke rose, fouling the air in the closed space.
"Fight!" Artaud shouted in his battle voice.
"No." Damas followed Artaud's every move. The cunning baron knew Artaud would not strike a defenseless man.
A sudden jolt of pain stabbed Artaud and the wind went out of him. He fell to one knee. Damas drew and swung his sword to decapitate Artaud, who rolled into the burning oil, igniting his surcoat in the process, barely avoiding Damas's blade.
Now that he had the advantage, Damas leered and held his sword high to strike.
By Jupiter's balls. Rolling away again, Artaud tore off the burning shreds of his surcoat, batting at the small flames with some success.
Another sharp pain threatened to incapacitate him. A birth pain. Ignoring the pull of Melusine's link, Artaud bit his lips against a scream and whirled his sword in a wide arc towards Damas, who pulled his wife in front of him like a shield. Too late to stop the blow. Caliburn sliced through soft flesh. The woman gasped.
Damas dropped her shivering body and stepped back, grabbing his son like another shield. Miserable cur! He'd sacrifice his wife and son, rather than fight on equal ground.
Artaud coughed and squinted in the thickening smoke. He could not let Damas out of h
is sight.
"Mother!" The boy broke free of his father's grip to kneel in the blood at his mother's side, but Artaud knew his strike had been true.
"She's dead, son," Damas said matter of fact, readying his sword. "Make yourself useful. Help me fight, or end up like her."
The boy didn't seem to hear his father, too distraught about his mother.
Artaud must end this cat and mouse game. Steeling his body against any assault, he advanced upon Damas, who now stood with his back to a wall.
Damas lunged. His mistake. Artaud stepped aside, parried and, trusting Caliburn to always reach its goal, he aimed for the heart. The magic sword penetrated mail and muscle and fount its target.
Damas gurgled. The wide look of disbelief in his eyes, before he collapsed, brought flutters into Artaud's chest. The traitor was dead.
A scream, that of a woman, pierced the stone walls. The prisoner in the next room was a woman?
"Who is that?" Artaud asked the boy.
"My sister!" The boy ran out into the smoky tunnel toward the next chamber.
Artaud raced after him. "Your sister?"
The girl's horrific screams surged again. Through the smoke, Artaud struggled with Caliburn to break down the burning door. When he finally broke through, the boy's sister was a charred mound of melting, incandescent remains. They were too late. Shame sapped his strength.
This casualty of war was his fault.
Artaud took the boy's hand and pulled him away from the horrible sight. "This way."
Coughing through the smoke, dodging tall flames, he re-entered the room where Damas and his wife now burned like logs.
"Don't look, boy." Artaud shoved away the consumed tables and pushed the stone mechanism. The stone swiveled on its pivot. He dragged the boy through, grabbed the wall torch, then closed the stone door upon the inferno.
He took the boy's hand. "Come on, son. Let's get out of here."
The boy sniffled and nodded. "Aye, my lord."
As Artaud walked gingerly, occasional stabs of pain made him stop and wince. Although it almost cost him his head, Artaud realized with a start that as long as he felt her pain, Melusine was still alive. He allowed himself a loud laugh.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two weeks later
From atop the outer rampart, Melusine gazed upon the countryside, surveying the road for an important arrival. She missed the weight of her babes on her arms, but she couldn't risk their health on the windy ramparts... even in such fair weather.
Her heart raced at the thought of seeing her beloved Artaud again, back from organizing the defense of his castle of Essalois. How she missed him. Now fully recovered from the difficult birth, and healthier than ever, thanks to the healing gifts of the ondine in her, she longed for his touch.
In the distance, the fields, planted with new seeds, made a contrasted patchwork of dark furrowed dirt among lighter patches. The fallow rectangles and the curvy meadows brimmed with blue periwinkles, purple pansy and white anemones. The gentle slope below the outer wall had regained its lush, verdant look, sprinkled with golden daffodils.
Thanks to abundant rains, the forest turned a tender green with new leaves, alive with the trills of returning birds. Wild ducks and cranes flocked to the ponds and swamps.
The stink of the battle pyres had vanished on the spring breeze with the vultures, and the air smelled fresh and new... except for the sweet aroma of roasting meat coming from the kitchen fires. Her tummy rumbled. She was hungry. No wonder, with two lusty babes suckling at her breasts at all hours of day or night.
Artaud's mounted party emerged at a full gallop on the road along the bend of the river. Melusine's heart stumbled. She grabbed the hem of her new gown of rich emerald green, and hurried down the stone stairs to go meet him in the bailey. The main gate stood wide open, and a happy horn sounded his arrival.
In the bailey, servants and soldiers gathered to welcome their lord. Melusine straightened the wide sleeves of her gown, and adjusted her chatelaine belt to accentuate her now slim waist and shapely hips. The ondine in her had quickly repaired her looks as well as her health.
When Artaud and his knights rode into the walled enclosure in a clatter of hooves, he directed his black stallion toward Melusine, slid off the saddle, and handed the reins to a stable lad. Then he lifted his helmet, removed his gloves, threw them inside the helmet, and handed it to the boy who now served as his squire... Young Damas of Couzan. Artaud respected traditions.
Turning in Melusine's direction, Artaud pushed back his mail coif and leather head covering to free his black hair. He strode toward her, a bright smile on his hale face. "How I missed you all these days, wife."
He grabbed her waist with both hands and lifted her easily to his height to kiss her lips, to the laughs and hoots of the assembled castle folk. Melusine reveled in this public display of affection.
Artaud let her down gently and glanced at the servants with a crooked smile. "Don't you have work to do? A feast almost ready to serve? It smells mighty good around here, and I am starving."
"Aye, aye, m'lord," came the excited responses, as men and women scrambled back to their chores with chuckles in their throats.
Melusine leaned upon his chest, enjoying the male scent of his mail under the cinched surcoat. "You may want to change into something more comfortable for the feast, my lord. Your bath is ready to pour."
"You only say that to see me take off my clothes." He winked at her and started across the bailey.
She chuckled as they walked. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."
"And I can't wait to see you nurse my gluttonous sons." His arm around her back rose from her hip up her side, so his hand came to cup her engorged breast.
Melusine didn't mind, despite servants and soldiers glancing at them as they went about their chores. "I should feed the babes before the feast, so the heirs of Forez are in a good mood for their first official presentation to the world."
He tightened his grip on her. They walked nonchalantly in the crisp air across the sunny bailey. The aroma of roasting meat and fermented cheeses reached Melusine's nostrils. She glanced up at him. "I have good news."
"More good news?" His deep voice lilted.
"Aye. The Archbishop of Lyon died suddenly," she said, unable to erase a happy grin. The prelate's death could only be a boon from the Goddess.
"Truly? When?" His voice came measured, prudent.
"Over two weeks past." She reassured him. "Before the mountain passes opened in the Alps."
"So he did not have time to send his excommunication missive to Rome?"
"Nay." She smiled knowingly. "The Great One is watching out for us."
He released a deep sigh. "By the horns of Mithras, that's a prickle off my side."
Glancing around to check for any listening ears nearby, Melusine asked in a low voice. "How is young Damas doing as your squire?"
"A little green, but eager to serve. I think his sire never gave him a chance to prove his worth, coddling him like a girl in his castle, and abusing him the rest of the time."
"You intend to keep him in your service, then?"
"Of course." Artaud nodded to a passing knight. "I intend to make him a knight of Forez someday. For the sake of this land, we must preserve Couzan's barony and its family line."
"What about his father's castle?"
"The fortress was all but destroyed by the fire. It won't be rebuilt anytime soon." He winked at her. "I managed to transfer the stolen gold from its vaults to a safe place right below our keep... that's our gold... not his."
As they neared the keep, Melusine spotted Guilli talking animatedly to the scullions. She motioned toward him with her chin. "What of Guilli? Is it not time to send your younger brother into fosterage?"
"Aye." Artaud stepped into the arched entrance of the great hall and Melusine followed. "And I found the perfect baron to turn him into a worthy knight."
Inside the great hall, servants dressed the trestle table
s with white linens.
"You did?" Curiosity made Melusine's words eager. "Who?"
"Baron Roland," Artaud said softly as they crossed the hall toward the stairs.
"But he is a Christian baron." Melusine kept her voice low.
"Aye." Artaud's voice hardened. "He happens to be Christian. But he will teach Guilli well."
As they climbed the narrow stone stairs to their chamber, Melusine shuddered at the thought of a Pagan noble being taught Christian values. "Are you sure ‘tis a good idea?"
"Wife, if we expect to be respected for religious tolerance, we have to apply it at home. Baron Roland is an honorable man and a staunch supporter of Forez as an independent province. He supported us against Damas. My mind is made up."
Melusine swallowed her objections as they reached the chamber door.
The servant girl watching the twins bobbed at their entrance. "Should I pour the hot water in the cold, m'lady?"
"Aye."
The girl hurried toward the hearth.
Artaud rushed to the head of the bed where the twins lay propped against the bolsters. He bent over the babes, letting them play with his big fingers and cooing incomprehensible, mumbled words to them.
The serving girl picked up a cauldron of steaming water from the hearth then poured it into the wooden tub, lined with cloth and half-filled with cold water.
"Let me help you remove your mail," Melusine called to Artaud, melting at the darling spectacle of a new father with his first born sons.
While Artaud let Melusine help him disrobe, the servant repeated the process for the remaining two caldrons, then she dipped her hand in the tub to check the temperature. "This should do nicely, m'lady."
"Thank you. Now, could you please help set the tables in the hall?"
"Of course, m'lady." The girl smiled, curtsied, then skipped away, her hurried steps echoing down the stone stairwell.
Artaud turned to Melusine and sat at the foot of the bed to remove his boots, his chest already bare. "Alone at last. It's been a long time. I hunger for you, my love."
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