by Allegra Gray
He pulled her slowly towards the table. “You, my pretty little whore, have interfered from the moment you arrived. First with the man you call your father, and then with the Jewish witch, insisting a trial day be held that nearly emptied my chambers. I can’t have it, you know. The men down here look to me. I am the power by which they live or die. There can be no other.”
Chapter 18
The dungeon keeper’s oily voice gained strength as he raved about the power he held, and his eyes took on a far-off gleam.
Praying he was thoroughly caught up in his own ranting, Celia acted fast.
Yanking her arm from his grasp, Celia grabbed the closest dagger on the table, then whirled and ran.
She’d miscalculated, for Hans was not so unaware as she’d hoped. Though she dashed madly for the stairs, her feet flying as fast as she could will them, she’d gone no more than a few steps before a vicious yank to her veil halted her progress. The headpiece came loose, but he had a firm grip on the hair beneath it.
She slashed at him with the dagger, though she could not see her target. She heard the ripping of fabric and a sharp hiss before he caught the wrist that held the weapon. He gripped her braids tighter, using them mercilessly to haul her back to the small room.
Hans squeezed the bones of her hand until she was forced to drop the knife. He swooped quickly to collect it, placing it back on the table with a pat.
He shifted his grip, holding her with one arm beneath her ribcage. Her lungs felt as though they were being crushed. Her heart hammered as she fought to regain control of her breath after the near-escape.
“Not so fast, little bitch. You’ll have to do much better than that if you wish to see the light of day again.”
He looked at the dagger she’d grabbed—a long, thin blade with a carved bone handle. “But you have made one of my choices easy. I know exactly which blade we will use first.”
“You can’t do this!” she choked. “The seneschal will come looking.”
Hans spat. “Hah. Arnaut is afraid of his own shadow. He prefers not to know what goes on down here.”
“I have friends. They will not let you do this to me.”
“Your friends are mere servants. They hold no power here.”
“But they will tell his lordship what you have done...he will make you pay.”
“The count will be gone for weeks yet. And when he returns, rest assured, I will have a story that answers all of his questions. Who do you think he will believe? Me, his old and trusted advisor, or a foolish little chambermaid—whose mother, it so happens, was also a whore? Marie and Alisoun may be your friends, but they are hardly credible sources. You see, sweet, I’ve thought this all out. You are mine.”
He slowly slid the thin knife across her neck, down to her collarbone, in a sickly caress. The bilge of fear rose, the acid tang burning her throat. He couldn’t do this to her! He couldn’t! Yet, as she followed the manic gleam in his eye, he nicked the soft flesh at the top of her breast, drawing a bright bead of blood, and she knew he would.
“So sweet,” he murmured, catching the drop of blood on his forefinger and rubbing it into his own skin. Celia’s stomach turned and she closed her eyes, fighting the urge to retch. This was how her life was going to end...here, away from her family, her lover, her friends. All of this, everything she’d done since coming here, had been for naught.
Almost everything. At least she’d saved her father. She would die with at least one good deed to her name.
A sudden stab of pain jolted her eyes open. The nick above her breast was now a gash.
“You would kill me for this? For a string of beads?!” she burst out.
“Nay. You did not listen. I would kill you for interfering. But do not worry, my dear. Death is yet a long way off for you. I have other plans first. And before they are complete, you will beg me for the mercy of death.”
“You are mad,” she breathed, wondering how to distract him again. She needed to do something, soon, before he got the idea to lock her into one of those metal collars that hung from the wall. But right now his grip on her was so tight it was a struggle to breathe, let alone escape.
An eerie cry echoed off the walls out in the main dungeon chamber, followed by exclamations in many voices and the clinking of chains. The commotion distracted her tormentor momentarily.
Still gripping her, he dragged her closer to the opening to see the cause of the disturbance. Celia could just see around her captor’s shoulder and…what fresh horror was this?
Everywhere, manacled men were falling to their knees and making the sign of the Holy Cross, cowering behind pillars or putting up their hands as though to ward off evil. Her breath caught as she saw the source of their fear.
Helena moved through the room slowly, deliberately, her hair wild, her arms and shawls waving about in frenetic gesticulations as she muttered loudly in a language Celia could not understand. Suddenly Helena threw up her arms with a loud cry, then dropped them and glared silently. She stalked forward, moving directly toward the chamber that held Hans and Celia.
Hans released Celia completely, moving to bar Helena from entry, but it was too late. She stood in the doorway, wild and otherworldly, grasping a serrated dagger that was pointed directly at Hans’ heart.
Celia stood completely still, waiting for the scene around her to unfold before taking action of her own. Helena’s arrival had saved her—for the moment—but the crazed look in her friend’s eye gave her pause, and her only exit was blocked.
For a moment Hans and Helena stared at one another, hatred etched in each one’s features, and Celia wondered briefly what tortures Helena must have suffered at his hands.
He moved suddenly, grabbing Celia roughly and pushing her in front of him.
Fear turned to anger that he would use her as a human shield, but once again, she could not escape his iron grip. Merde.
Helena’s expression never wavered. She stood unearthly still. Hatred burned in her eyes like a high-pitched fever. Never once did her eyes drop, never did she glance away from Hans. He grasped Celia tighter and she sensed his nervousness from the hitch in his breathing.
Finally Helena moved, flying into motion with a startling suddenness as she screamed incantations at him in a voice that shook like thunder, horrible and deep. She drew back the arm that held the knife, prepared to hurtle it at his face.
Hans dropped his knife, released Celia, and fled, the long folds of his black cloak trailing serpent-like behind him.
Celia stared, uncertain, at the woman she’d thought she’d known.
“Make it seem as though I’m forcing you,” Helena whispered, her lips barely moving. “And take one of these.” She slipped one of Hans’ blades into Celia’s hand. Celia shuddered at the touch of cold metal, reminding her forcibly how it had felt against her throat just moments ago, but she grasped it firmly, then hid it in the folds of her kirtle as she allowed Helena to half-drag her from the dungeon.
The other prisoners stared but did not approach as the two women passed through the large chamber. Twice Helena shouted something in the strange language, and each time the prisoners shrunk further away.
Helena shoved Celia through the gate at the bottom of the stairs, then turned and locked it securely behind them. She grabbed Celia’s sleeve and pulled her up the stairs, past the now-slumped guard, and into the darkened courtyard.
Celia breathed a sigh of relief to be in the open air again. She watched as Helena took a deep breath. The aura of otherworldliness fell away, leaving only the young Jewish woman she’d befriended.
“How did you get the key?” Celia whispered.
Helena looked uneasily at the guard. “He wasn’t looking my direction...I snuck up and hit him on the head with a stone I’d hidden behind my skirts. He never saw it coming. I don’t think it did any permanent damage.”
“But, but...how did you know where to find me?”
Her face set, Helena said only, “I know that man. I know what he d
oes. There was gossip around the castle that you’d been accused of stealing. I knew where you’d be.”
“Merci. Oh God, merci.” It was entirely inadequate, but she could find no other words.
“’Twas no more than I owed you. You might say we are even now. But we cannot stand here and talk. We must run. There’s not much time. They’ll come after us.”
Celia looked across the courtyard. The bridge was down, but the gates were shut. They were trapped. She pointed, her heart pounding in fear. Any second now someone could discover them, drag them both back to the chamber with collars and blades.
Fortunately, the closed gate did not faze Helena. “I know. Follow me.” She led Celia toward a darkened passageway behind the chapel.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. Celia’s heart leapt to her throat before she recognized Marie’s face by the moonlight.
“Did it go off all right?” Marie whispered.
“Aye. They were all frightened out of their wits. No one dared stop us.”
“Perfect. It won’t buy you much time, but it worked. You must hurry.” She shoved a small bundle into each of the other women’s arms. Celia’s was somewhat the larger of the two. “Food, and a few supplies. It’s all I can give without raising suspicion.” She looked at Celia. “I know you didn’t steal those beads. I’ll try to get a messenger to his lordship. Someone not in service here, or Hans will just pay them off.
“If there were anything else I could do, I would. But no one here will take my word over that evil man. You’d better believe that when his lordship returns, though, I will tell him everything that happened. Everything. I’m certain your name will be cleared. It doesn’t help now though...travel as quickly and as far as you can. The roads are dangerous, but not so dangerous as staying here. I’ll delay them if I can.”
Celia wished she could throw herself into Marie’s friendly arms, but the pressing danger of their situation made her think twice. It’s not over yet. She looked at Helena. “You are coming?”
“Aye. There is nothing for me here, and after what I’ve just done, I cannot stay.”
“I’ll miss you,” Marie whispered, giving Celia a quick hug. “Go now. Hurry.”
Helena grabbed Celia’s sleeve again and led her into a dark passageway. It was a low tunnel with damp walls and extremely dark, but they could not afford to light a torch. Celia moved as fast as she dared, terrified every moment that her next step would be into nothingness.
“Marie told me of this passage,” Helena whispered. “She is an angel, for without it we would be trapped. It’s used by servants occasionally, and meant as an escape route should the castle ever be breached. It can’t be seen from the road, so it’s rarely locked unless the castle is under attack.”
Celia followed the reassuring whisper of Helena’s voice. Finally, the passage ended at a low wooden door. Helena pushed at it, but the door did not budge.
“Merde! It wasn’t supposed to be locked!”
Celia’s heart pounded as though it would burst through her chest. She felt at the edges of the door. “I don’t think it is...maybe it’s just stuck. Here, let me.” The knife Helena had handed her back in the dungeon was thick and sturdy. She pried it into the crack between wood and stone, then pulled with all her might to lever the door open. The wood creaked and the heavy metal knife began to bend. Her palms were soaked with nervous sweat, making it hard to grip the knife. She readjusted her hands and pulled again.
With a great noise, the door sprang free. The women pushed through and found themselves standing at the backside of the castle, outside the walls, in a thick hedge. Just on the other side of the hedge was the lake, which lapped softly against the dark shore.
“Everyone will have heard that!” Helena worried.
Celia was mildly reassured to know she wasn’t the only one worrying. Her otherworldly rescuer was human after all. “We can’t think about that now. The walls are thick. Unless they were nearby, the sound would not have carried.”
“All right. Let’s go.” Helena crept around towards the front of the castle and the drawbridge, staying within the shadows of the towering walls. Celia followed.
“When we reach the bridge, run. Go left, toward the north roads, and keep running as long as you can, at least until we reach an area where we can take cover.”
“Won’t they see us?”
“Possibly. But there’s no other way. We can’t stay here. The island is too small...there’s nowhere to hide where the guards won’t find us. Once we’re on the mainland, there’s hope. If the gate guards haven’t yet heard of our escape, they may not be watching the road so closely. It’s our only chance.”
It didn’t sound like a very strong chance to Celia, but anything was better than going back inside. They were nearly to the bridge.
Helena crouched behind a low bush, motioning to Celia to do the same, and to stay silent. She pointed at a large cloud. “When the cloud covers the moon, we go,” she mouthed soundlessly.
Celia nodded, clutching her small bundle to her side, preparing to run.
The cloud softly eased over the moon, blackening the night.
“Now.”
The women stood and darted for the bridge, running on tiptoe to make less noise. Celia’s heart hammered in her throat, her pulse racing wildly. She sprinted as she’d never done before, reaching the road just behind Helena and following her to the left, staying up against the mountains as close as possible where their silhouettes would be less visible against the night sky.
Celia prayed as she ran, hoping the men left behind to guard the castle were not the count’s best. She heard a cry go up behind them as they turned a corner, reaching an area where the mountains receded and trees rose by the lakeside.
“In here!”
They made for the trees, branches snapping and scratching at their harried flight.
“Pray they don’t bring the dogs,” Helena whispered frantically.
“The stream,” Celia whispered back. She remembered a stream trickling down the mountainside and out of the woods, when she and her father had traveled the road so long ago. She had no idea if she could find it in the dark.
In the distance, Celia heard hoof beats on the wooden bridge. The search was on.
“This way.” Helena tugged her sleeve. Celia followed. Being from the village, her friend would know the streams and land better than she did. Sure enough, she soon heard the rush of water over rocks. They plowed forward as the baying of hounds pierced the night air. The stream wasn’t deep, but it was painfully cold as the water seeped through her thin boots. Helena started to cross, but Celia pointed, indicating they should stay in the stream. They moved more slowly this way, but it would throw off the dogs. Her feet went numb, but she kept them moving.
“Enough,” Helena whispered. Crossing over, they crawled into the dense underbrush and crouched low.
Celia breathed slowly through her mouth, trying to calm herself and stay silent. The thick brush that concealed them scratched at her skin and she fought the urge to bat it away. Nervous sweat trickled down her neck, stinging her cut and pooling in the hollow between her breasts. It was so dark she couldn’t read the expression on Helena’s face, but she knew instinctively the other woman was experiencing the same anxiety.
The rumble of hooves was audible for a several heart-pounding moments, then receded into the night. Silence reigned. Celia stared at her companion’s shadowy form, confused.
More time passed in silence, neither woman daring to speak. Finally Celia whispered, “Why aren’t they coming for us?”
“Marie. She’ll have told them she overheard us planning to go south. It makes more sense. There are more towns in that direction, and the traveling is far easier for two women on foot. They won’t credit us with the intelligence of being able to dupe them.”
“She really is an angel,” Celia breathed.
Helena nodded. “We need to move on. Come now, silently as you can.” They crept back out of the unde
rbrush, stepping carefully to avoid snapping twigs. Even so, the small sounds they made sounded to Celia like thunder cracking through the night, alerting any and all to their presence—if anyone had been present to hear.
On the road, Helena set off at a run again, Celia doing her best to keep up, her feet stinging with pain as the numbness of the stream wore off. They ran for longer than she could ever remember running, past the village of Ville Neuve, past several fishermen’s huts, and on into the night. Her lungs burned and her breath came in cold gasps, but she kept running. The muscles of her legs clenched and cramped, and still she kept running, using the memory of Hans’ wickedly thin blades to keep her feet moving when it seemed they could go no farther.
When they simply could no longer run, they walked.
Only when the gray light of dawn finally crested the mountains, did they stop to rest.
Celia had only one question as she collapsed wearily to the ground, hidden in a stand of trees.
“Helena,” she asked, “what were you shouting back there, down in the dungeons?”
Her companion’s eyes closed as she answered, “’Twas naught but a Hebrew prayer for protection.”
Chapter 19
Ville Echallens, March 1203
After their escape, Celia and Helena traveled by dark, hiding and resting during the day. They huddled together for warmth, burrowing like animals in the forest. The sun dried their boots while they rested, but left them stiff and unwieldy, so that their feet blistered until they’d softened up again. There’d been no sign of pursuit after the first night, but neither woman rested easy until they’d put greater distance between themselves and Chillon. Sore feet were a minor price to pay for safety.
On the third day, they began to speak of plans. The moment of mortal danger had passed, but the slow threat of starvation presented nearly as big a problem. The food Marie had packed was all but gone. The crops were not yet ripe in the fields, so there was no way to pilfer enough to keep going. Between she and Helena, they had only a few small coins.
