That was the key.
So, David and I and several knights watched Ezz’s compound, waiting for the moment he would leave to go to the open market. He was very predictable, leaving at the same time every day, and on this particular day he did not disappoint. He departed his white-stoned compound and headed off to his merchant stall, and that was usually when the daughters came out to wave to passing men. Ezz knew they did this, but he could not stop them, even when his wife took a switch to them. Somehow, the girls would always reappear.
This day was no different.
Marwah always wore red. That was how she differentiated herself from her six dark-haired sisters. She would wear the traditional scarf over her nose and mouth, but she would wear clothing that would show glimpses of flesh among the folds of fabric. She would hang over the top of the wall so men could see the swell of her breasts, just enough to drive them mad.
Marwah was in full bloom on this day as Christopher came out of his hiding place and headed towards the fortified manse. She saw him, as he was difficult to miss with his enormous height and blond hair, and immediately she gravitated towards him, waving a demure hand.
Christopher was cunning. He stood at the base of the wall and motioned to her to come down, to let him in. They didn’t speak any words, but they didn’t need to. She knew what he wanted, and he knew what she wanted. Leaving her sisters on the wall, Marwah came down and opened a small postern gate that was away from the main gate of the compound. She admitted Christopher and as he entered the gate, he put his arms around her so that she forgot to lock it.
That was when David and I slipped in to follow.”
“Stop,” Christopher commanded softly. “Marcus, I swear that when I am feeling better, I shall beat you senseless if you continue this story.”
David, still behind his brother and acting as a back rest, was already silently laughing. “At least you have not gone back to sleep,” he said. “The more Marcus tells the story, the angrier you shall become and no one can sleep when they are so angry.”
Because David was laughing, Peter was grinning as well. He looked at Marcus. “Is the rest of the story so terrible?” he asked.
Marcus shrugged, wisely moving out of Christopher’s long arm reach. “That depends,” he said. “For me, it is not. For your father…”
“Christopher had pulled Marwah into a type of covered shelter that was in the bailey of the property. It was away from the main house and had been used to shelter her father’s men, who had accompanied Ezz to his stall. Once Christopher took her in there, he used the usual tactics one did on a woman who was like a cat in heat – he would kiss her gently on the neck, the shoulder, and told her he wanted his last taste of a woman because, alas, he was moving out with his army to the south into Tyre.
He fed her false information under the guise of seducing her. We could hear Marwah groaning and moaning. Since the shelter was relatively secluded, Christopher was able to lay the woman down on a stone bench and have his way with her.
And that was when we heard the main gate open.
Fearful of being caught, David and I raced back to the postern gate, staying out of sight. We saw Marwah’s father enter, alone, as if he had forgotten something. He was moving quickly, shouting to the servant who opened the door to his home. But no sooner did the door open than at least two of Marwah’s sisters began screeching at him, pointing to the shelter.
Marwah’s father produced his scimitar and went on the hunt.”
“Did he catch him?” Peter demanded, unable to contain his apprehension.
Marcus held up a hand to silence him.
“David and I tried to call out the warning to Christopher. Marwah’s father was drawing closer and that beautiful scimitar of Damascus steel was gleaming in the sunlight. David finally whistled between his teeth, very loudly, and Marwah’s father saw us. As we ran from the gate, Marwah’s father entered the shelter just as Christopher was coming out. He had one leg out of his breeches, but that was the only part of his body that was covered. It was clear what he had been doing.
After that, the chase was on.
A crazy man screaming in Arabic was chasing after Christopher, with David and me caught up in the frenzy. We were all running as fast as we could, down the dusty avenue with that damned sun beating down on us. It was very hot and there was sand everywhere. We somehow managed to run straight into that open market, dodging people, leaping over dogs, and charging through stalls as Ezz slashed the scimitar behind us.
All the while, Christopher only had one leg in his breeches, holding them up just enough to protect his modestly, but his white buttocks were hanging out. Had I not been running for my life, I would have laughed so hard that I am sure I would have choked. Now, every time I mention Sidon, you will know the story behind it. The three of us running for our lives as a crazed father chased us around the marketplace with his scimitar.”
Behind Christopher, David was still giggling and Peter had a hand over his mouth, holding back the laughter.
“What happened?” Peter asked. “He didn’t catch any of you, did he?”
Marcus shook his head. “He did not,” he said. “But it was not for lack of trying. I am fairly certain Chris ran half-naked through that market for the better part of an hour before we managed to escape. In the end, it turned out that Ezz was the leak of information as Richard had suspected. What Chris told Marwah made it to the Muslim armies and we were able to route them in our next engagement.”
The only one not laughing was Christopher. Even so, the chatter had the desired effect; he wasn’t sleeping. He was very much awake as he remembered that particular adventure with more humor than he should have. Ezz nearly cut off everything dear to him with that flying scimitar. Leaning back against his brother as the man held melting snow to his head, he grunted.
“I wish Ezz had caught you and cut out your tongue,” he mumbled. “That way, you would never tell that story again.”
Marcus grinned. “It is not the first time the de Lohr brothers have been caught without their breeches on,” he said. “Remember that time at The Lion and the Lamb in Cotherstone? Back when we were serving Juston de Royans. David nearly had his… well, something cut off from a woman’s husband. And we didn’t even know the wench was married.”
David wasn’t laughing so much any longer, but Christopher had a grin on his face. “Trying to ride a horse with his manhood stiff… Christ, I cannot believe I just said that in front of my son. This wound on my head has taken away all sense of propriety.”
Peter, caught up in the laughter and camaraderie, laughed as he slapped his uncle on the shoulder. “Is that the worst of it for you?” he said. “Why, I’ve had…”
He suddenly stopped as three pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly, waiting for the rest of that statement. Sheepishly, Peter grinned.
“I’ve had no experience at all in any such thing,” he said innocently. “Papa, I swear to you that I’ve never been chased around a marketplace by an angry father with a scimitar.”
The three older men looked at him as if they didn’t believe him at all. As big and as handsome as he was, that was not the truth. Finally, Christopher snorted.
“Then you are not my son at all if that has not yet happened to you,” he said. Then, the smile faded as he tried to get comfortable, leaning against David as he was. “I must sleep. My head is about to fall from my shoulders.”
David opened his mouth to tell him, once again, that he should not sleep but the creak of an opening door interrupted him. The men looked to see Andra entering with her servant and another woman, who was a good deal older.
The Lady of the House had arrived.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE STABLE
It was an unusual Lady of the House, indeed.
The older woman was dressed in a dirty linen robe and her white hair was well past her buttocks. She had a rather wild-eyed look about her, enough so that Peter stood up as she approached. He was prepared to def
end his father and the others to the death, even against a woman with a crazed look to her eyes. He frowned, the old woman frowned, and the forward movement came to a halt.
Uncertainty filled the air.
“This is my mother, Sianet,” Andra said, tugging on the old woman’s arm. “She has come to see how badly injured your father is.”
Peter cast a long look at the filthy old woman before finally backing away. Andra, cautiously watching the big, young knight, pulled her mother all the way forward, indicating Christopher as he leaned against his brother.
“This is the man I told you of, Mam,” she said. “He hurt his head. I told them to keep cold compresses on the bump, but will you look at him?”
Sianet looked at the four very large men in the kitchen. Marcus could see that she was intimidated so he stood up and moved to stand with Peter, but David was trapped with his brother leaning on him. He remained, watching the old lady as she finally bent over, peering at the large lump on Christopher’s head. It covered some of his temple and back into the hairline.
Sianet visually inspected it before reaching out a gnarled finger, gently touching it. Christopher winced.
“It pains you,” the old woman said.
Christopher grunted. “It would pain anyone.”
The old woman lifted Christopher’s eyelids, looking at his eyes. Then, she visually inspected the rest of him, naked but for the blanket he was wrapped up in, as well as inspecting David and Marcus. She was quite observant and curious.
“I smell war about you,” she said. “Where did you come from?”
“Hereford,” Christopher said before David or Marcus could answer. “There was a battle tonight.”
“Where?”
“Kington.”
“And you were injured in that battle?”
“I was.”
“Why did you come here?”
Christopher lifted a hand, pointing to the clothing drying out on the hearth. “It was not by choice, I assure you,” he said. “I was struck and fell into the river. These brave men went in to save me and the water carried us here.”
That was about as much as he intended to explain. Christopher was hoping they wouldn’t have to tell Andra, or her mother, anything at all, but he felt as if he had to say something to at least satisfy the woman’s curiosity. He didn’t want to be impolite to the people who had essentially saved their lives.
“Then you are a warrior,” the old woman said. “A knight?”
Christopher nodded faintly, stopping because the motion pained him. “We are.”
“Saesneg?”
That was the Welsh word for English. Again, Christopher nodded. “Aye,” he said steadily. “But we mean you no harm. We shall be gone in the morning and I will send men with a reward for you for helping us. We will make it worth your while, I promise.”
The old woman looked at him, a glimmer in her eye. “’Tis the eve of Christmas,” she said. “The one night of the year when good will to all men is shown. As the stable sheltered the Christ child, we shall shelter you.”
Christopher hoped she was sincere. With the Welsh, one could never be sure when it came to the English. “You have my thanks, my lady.”
The old woman simply nodded before turning to Andra. “Bring my medicaments,” she said. “This man needs healing.”
Andra rushed off, heading back into the house, as the old woman stood up and started bustling around the kitchen. In the bread oven, keeping warm, was some kind of meat dish that Peter had overlooked on his hunt for food. She brought it out and used the wooden cups that had held the beef broth, feeding it to the men who were reluctant to take it at first. They’d already stolen broth and bread. But the woman insisted so they at her mutton and gravy, which was tasty and salty.
“Hereford,” the old woman said as they were eating. “Is that your home?”
Christopher had food in his mouth, swallowing before answering. “Aye.”
“What was this battle you attended?”
“The Welsh were overrunning Kington and the garrison there.”
“The garrison is Saesneg.”
“I know.”
“You were helping them?”
“We did not get a chance. We were trying to protect the village.”
“Do you have family?”
“I have a wife and seven children that I would very much like to see again.”
The old woman pondered that. Out of questions for the moment, she wandered over to a cabinet and opened the doors, pulling forth a covered pitcher of something, putting it on a wooden tray with a cup.
The servant woman was still with her, standing back in the shadows, and Sianet spoke to the woman in Welsh, sending her off to bring things for the tray. A spoon, a cup of hot water, and more rags ended up on the tray. The old woman was busying herself with something else in the cabinet when Andra rushed into the kitchen.
“There are men at our gate,” she said. “They are begging for entry. I saw them from the upstairs window, through the snow.”
Marcus and Peter went right for their swords, weapons that they had lain out to dry off in the heat. Even Christopher tried to move, but the old woman quickly held out her hand.
“Nay,” she said. “There shall be no fighting. Andra, quickly, take these men out to the stable and hide them. I cannot deny men shelter on a night like this, but we cannot let them find the Saesneg here. We must make sure they do not.”
Andra was worried. “You take them to the stable,” she said. “I will handle the men at the gate.”
“Listen to me,” the old woman said, grabbing the tray and shoving it at Andra. “Take this into the stable. Give Hereford the poppy powder and apply the arnica to his head. Stay down there with them until I come for you.”
She said it in a tone that left no room for argument and Andra grabbed the tray, and the satchel she’d fetched that contained her mother’s medicaments, rushing past Marcus and Peter.
“Quickly,” she said. “Grab your clothing and come with me.”
Marcus looked at her in exasperation. “Can we at least put clothing on? Look at us. We will freeze to death before we reach the stable.”
Andra paused, nodding swiftly, and the men tossed off the blankets as they began to pull on their breeches, which were almost dry and quite warm from having been baking in front of the hearth.
When the blankets went off, Andra gasped and turned her back on them, but her mother did not. She watched everything and that wild-eyed look became a little more tame. Appreciative, even. Andra watched her mother’s expression with horror.
“Mam,” she hissed. “Turn away!”
The mother cast her a droll look. “Why?” she said. “I have seen it before. Mayhap not so beautifully presented, but I have seen it. But you look away, Andra. You should not see this. You are innocent. But me… ’tis God’s Christmas gift to me on this night to have a vision like this.”
Andra was shocked that her mother was so happily watching nude men dress. But in the same breath, she felt the urge to laugh. Her mother had been bordering on madness for the past year, taking to her bed most of the time, and this was the happiest and perhaps the most sane she’d seen her mother in quite some time.
Watching naked men put on their clothing.
It was a shocking realization.
But there wasn’t time to dwell on it. The men at the gate would soon become desperate and try to come around the side of the house as the English had. Andra dared to look over her shoulder to see the state of dress of the men, seeing that they were all mostly dressed and now helping the injured man into his clothing. Mail and weaponry were being carried, not worn.
There was no more time to waste.
“Come,” she said. “Follow me, quickly.”
She was carrying the tray of things her mother had given her as well as her mother’s medicament satchel. As she rushed past Peter, he reached out to take the tray.
“Here,” he said in his deep, soft voice. “L
et me take this. Lead the way, my lady.”
Andra glanced at him not once, but twice, thinking that he was a rather handsome young man. For a Saesneg. Quickly, she took them back through what appeared to be a pantry and into a covered walkway that took them to a second postern gate in the wall of the manse.
Behind them, David was shutting doors, making sure their tracks were covered as best he could as Marcus shouldered Christopher, helping the injured man walk as the snow blew around them. Through the second gate they went, immediately entering another covered walkway that moved past several stalls that were jammed with livestock.
It was cold here, but they were protected from the brunt of the storm. With the heat from the bodies of the animals, it wasn’t bad at all. As Andra led them into the furthest stall, it was clear that they were quite insulated from the elements with all of the animals around them. It didn’t smell as inviting as the kitchen had, but it would do.
There was a loft above the last stall with a ladder that led up to it. Peter went up the ladder first, followed by Andra. Christopher was next, moving slowly and helped along by Marcus and David, directly behind him. When Christopher was finally into the loft, pulled along by Peter, Marcus and David bolted up the ladder and pulled it up after them.
From that point on, it was a waiting game.
Of course, they could have no fire, but they had brought the blankets with them and they used most of them to cover Christopher up to keep him warm against the frigid temperatures. He was becoming groggy again, but David and Marcus sat with him as Andra administered a potion of poppy for the pain and smeared some kind of fat infused with arnica leaves onto his lump. It was supposed to reduce the inflammation and swelling.
The fat in the salve was resistant to the water from the snow, and Andra had only brought one bowl with her, the only one that would fit on the tray. She gave the snow-filled rag to David, who held it onto his brother’s head again. With that, they settled in to wait out the storm and the Welsh in the house.
A Very Medieval Christmas: A Medieval Romance Novella Bundle Page 26
