Alinor

by Roberta Gellis

  “Do not praise my mercy too highly,” Ian said with a wry twist to his mouth. “Nor do not think you will come out of this scot-free. I do but postpone your fate. Lady Alinor will have the judgment—if we come alive out of this.”

  Sir Peter’s eyes widened. “She will have me torn to pieces with hot pincers. If I could have shown her—”

  “I will not let her do that,” Ian said dryly. Then he began to laugh. “So much I will promise you, if we hold the keep.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Once upon the walls, there was no reason to laugh. It was apparent that Lord Gwenwynwyn intended assault as soon as he could get his ladders fixed and his ram ready. He was making no effort to hide his preparations, nor even the size of his forces. Ian looked over the number of men laboring on scaling ladders and frowned. The force was not very large, but it was large enough to take the keep unless it was defended with very great determination. Worse, within the keep they were very few. Determination might withstand one assault, possibly two. After that they would be taken, because there would be no replacements for men wounded or killed.

  As soon as Ian emerged from the keep, Geoffrey and Owain came across to him. Unless the men who kept them prisoner were deliberately being hidden, they reported, Sir Peter had told the truth. Those three were not on the walls. With his squires behind him, Ian went up through the tower near the gate and paced the walls, inspecting the preparations for defense and speaking a few words to each man. Owain had not been misled by the servants. The men-at-arms had believed he was sick. All asked anxiously after his health, and Ian reassured them. His appearance supported his statements. If his face was a little drawn and hollow-eyed, it was easy to see that he carried his weight of mail lightly and walked with a spring to his step. To each man his message was the same: Fight to live; yield and die. Gwenwynwyn would permit no tale of what happened in the keep to be carried abroad. Thus, each man, innocent as he might be, must die because Ian, his squires, and Sir Peter were all condemned to death.

  The keep at Clyro sat on the crest of the hill. It had no moat, although there was a declivity at the base of the walls where the ancient ditch of a ditch-and-dike fortress had once been. No moat meant no drawbridge or portcullis. The walls were closed with great gates, foot-thick planks bound together with iron crossbars and sealed by triple tree-trunks that lay in great iron hoops. Opposite these gates, at the foot of the last rise, Ian watched the battering ram being readied. On either side of the gate, archers stood ready on the walls, but they would be of little use. Ian could see the framework that would support a shield of toughened hide that would protect the men working the ram. The archers might pick off a man or two who showed themselves incautiously, but on the whole they would be ineffective. The catapults could not be trained so close against the walls.

  “Geoffrey, I want two winches and wheels, with a framework that will reach—oh, ten feet, beyond the walls. One this side of the gate, one that. We need also wood for fires and ten barrels of pitch—if the keep holds so much—five this side, five that. Set the fires at once. When there is a good bed of coals, the pitch is to be warmed over it until it begins to ooze. Have a care—tell the men to have a great care. The barrels must be turned, and they must not grow too hot or they will burst. Pitch is not lightly removed. Remember my back.” That would do for the ram and the men who worked it. Ian moved on. There were already fires burning on the wall, heating cauldrons of oil to be poured down on the attackers. Ian climbed up and craned over the battlement. Because of the declivity, the ladders could not be set close against the wall. That would make the climbers a little more open to arrow shots, but not much. It was difficult to aim at any acute angle through an arrow slit. More important, it would save them from being inundated by the hot oil, which would run down the walls. “Owain, lay your arm across the arrow slits and see the narrowest. Then run down and see if you can find some troughs—you know, the kind they use for pouring grain—that will fit in the slits. The longer the better, and not too tight a fit, so the trough may be swung from side to side. If there are none, let the serving men wrench out every pipe and gutterspout they can find. Lay those some yards apart all round the walls—except not by the gates, they will have the pitch there—and bid the men-at-arms to thrust them through the slits when the attackers are halfway up the ladders—not sooner. Then the pipe or trough may be twisted so that it aims toward the climbers, and the hot oil must be poured through as quickly as possible.”

  Owain nodded and ran off, smiling grimly. That was a clever thought of his lord’s. Owain remembered only two months ago how the oil had poured uselessly from the spouts made for it when they took the keep in Sussex. Then he had been surprised to see Lord Ian ride round and round the walls as close as he could get, daring death from arrowshafts, only to stare up at them. His lord had explained, of course. Lord Ian understood his duty to teach his squires all he knew of warcraft. Perhaps Lord Gwenwynwyn could be brave enough, clever enough, and thoughtful enough of his men to see where the oil spouts were and set the ladders well away from them, but it would not matter. With Lord Ian’s arrangement, the oil would come to the ladder if the ladder would not come to the oil.

  Every few yards around the wall, poles with hooks on the end lay ready to grasp the scaling ladders and push them outward. That might be possible, even when the ladder was weighted with men, because the angle would probably be more near the upright than Ian had set the ladders in Sussex. Even so… He beckoned a group of men-at-arms together and explained that there was another use to which the hook could be put. If it was impossible to topple the ladder backward, it could be pushed and pulled from side to side. With good luck some men would fall off, and all would be greatly impeded in their climb. With better luck, the ladder could be thrust off sideways, or one foot would break under the pressure and bring about the same result. When he was sure the men really understood what he had told them, he sent two off around the walls to explain the technique to other groups.

  At the moment, it was all he could think of. He looked out once more at the preparations being made. They had still a little time before Gwenwynwyn’s force would be ready to attack. From the spot he now stood on the walls, Ian looked down into Lady Peter’s walled garden. It was smaller than the garden of Roselynde, but just as well kept. Ian, however, was not thinking of that nor of the pleasant hours he had spent in that garden with Alinor. “You,” he said to the nearest man-at-arms, “go and find Sir Peter. Tell him to set the servingmen to tearing out the stones of the garden. Have them brought up to the walls, and the servingmen also. They are not trained in arms, but they will be put to the sword as much as we will. Let them fight as they can. They can cast down stones upon the attackers.”

  Lord Llewelyn did not wait at Llanrwst for his vassals. So well had Alinor worked upon his fears, that the men were summoned to meet him at a keep on the very borders of Powys. He did not, of course, write a summons to Ian’s vassals. He had not that right. He would go with Alinor and lend his authority to her pleading. If the men refused to come, there was little that even Lord Llewelyn could do. It was not worth arguing about anyway. Ian’s lands in Wales were not large. Perhaps twenty men might be had from each vassal. Because he did not wish to waste time, he rode with his own troop and Alinor’s to Ian’s keeps first.

  To their surprise, they found there was no need to explain their case. In fact, they needed to ride very fast to overtake the first group, which had already left. When they caught up, they heard the story of the men-at-arms who had been put out in the night. Alinor and Llewelyn exchanged stunned glances. This was the maddest thing of all. It made no sense of any kind. It made no sense if Ian was to be pressured into ceding the keep into Sir Peter’s hands; it made no sense if Ian was a hostage to entrap Alinor; it made no sense if Ian was dead. In the first two cases, the men should have been kept as prisoners; in the third case, the men should also be dead.

  Alinor turned to her husband’s clan brother. “Can this be so
me Welsh custom my man has picked up or misunderstood?”

  “The Welsh may be different from Normans, Lady Alinor,” Llewelyn replied dryly, “but they are quite sane.”

  “Then, Lord Llewelyn, I begin to fear I have been the unwitting bait in a trap set for you. What else can this be but a means to draw you to Clyro Hill?”

  There was a little silence, and then Llewelyn smiled. “If it is a trap, there can be only one man who set it. Do not trouble yourself, dear sister. I am willing, very willing, to spring this trap.”

  He sent men off to Ian’s other strongholds with the information as to where they should meet his own forces, and he looked approvingly at the forty-seven men following Ian’s vassal. The man must have stripped his keep of everyone except cripples and ancients. It was interesting that Ian was so well-beloved, and very helpful, too, in a case where, if this was a trap, every man would count. If every man counted, however, Alinor’s vassals would have to come from Clifford as quickly as possible. How this was to be brought about suddenly became a greater problem.

  It was reasonable that Alinor should be allowed to pass unmolested toward Gwynedd, if the purpose of the trap was to catch Lord Llewelyn. It was equally reasonable that she would not be allowed to make the return journey to bring reinforcements. The men discussed the matter that evening in camp with considerable anxiety. As soon as they passed the border of Powys, they would be fair game for an attack. They were a strong enough force not to fear that, but it made them uncomfortable to have a woman in their midst. Yet they could not leave her behind, since her men would not move from Clifford without her command. Alinor, seeing the discussion going in exactly the direction she desired, modestly held her peace.

  It was just as well for Alinor’s purposes that none knew that Lord Salisbury had started out for Clifford that very night. He carried with him an order he had wrung from the king, empowering him to command the services of the vassals of Roselynde. His knowledge of their place of meeting had come about simply enough. Once Lady Ela was over the worst of her shock, she remembered that Isobel of Clare was Alinor’s closest friend and that, in her husband’s absence, she commanded a number of strongholds in Wales and on the Welsh border. It was not impossible that Isobel knew where Alinor was going or where her men were to gather.

  Lady Ela’s messenger caught her husband soon after Salisbury had left the king, and the hope of direction her suggestion gave him contributed more to his ability to eat and rest than all his brother’s assurances. The next day he asked for, and by evening obtained, the writ he desired. When John asked where he would find them, Salisbury did not really answer. He had no suspicion John was playing him false; he was only trying to avoid mention of the Countess of Pembroke. The less John was reminded of what Pembroke was accomplishing in Ireland, the more chance Pembroke would have to finish the work.

  Isobel did not have a devious mind. She knew her husband liked Lord Salisbury and that Salisbury had spoken for William to the king many times. She knew also that Salisbury was Ian’s friend and that Ian was fostering his son. It did not occur to her that Salisbury was also, and first, John’s brother and might be playing a double game. She saw only the fear and pain in him when he spoke of Geoffrey. In any case, when he told her what Alinor was doing, she was so horrified that she probably would have told Satan where the men were, to prevent Alinor from leading them. Seeing how he had overset her, Salisbury spent a few hours calming Isobel and assuring her he would save Alinor from herself. It turned out to have been time well spent.

  After evensong, Salisbury set out for Clifford, revolving expedients in his mind. He had learned from Isobel a piece of valuable information aside from where the men were to meet. That was that he would not be welcomed by them in the light of a savior from the whims of a silly woman.

  “I am not sure what these men will do,” Isobel had told him. “Old Sir Andre and Sir John would have tried to kill you outright if they thought your order conflicted with Alinor’s good. I doubt Sir Giles, Sir Henry, or Sir Walter will go so far as that, but they may suddenly fall ‘sick’ or simply disappear so that you cannot give them orders they feel they cannot obey.”

  It was a valuable warning. Salisbury, who had been thinking he would need to urge the men to serve their mistress, turned his mind instead to ways of convincing them he wished to serve her. It was not so simple. Isobel might not associate him with the king, but these men, particularly Sir Walter and Sir Henry, who had fought in the tourney, would. He determined at last not to show the king’s writ. Isobel’s letter and seal opened Clifford to him without difficulty. Once within, he had reason to be grateful for Isobel’s warning. Sir Giles of Iford, in bedrobe and slippers, came to greet him.

  “How can we serve you, Lord Salisbury?” Sir Giles asked.

  The tousled hair and sleep-heavy eyes gave evidence that the man had been roused from a sorely needed rest. The heavy lids, however, could not conceal the wary distrust in the tired eyes.

  “By listening to what I have to say,” Salisbury replied.

  “Will you sit down? Can I offer you wine? Food?”

  Salisbury sat, but to the other questions he shook his head. “I come to you as William Longespee, not as the king’s brother,” he began. “I come for two reasons. Ian de Vipont saved my life when we took Montauban castle in France. I owe him a life. More than that, my son is with him. Wherever Ian is, my Geoffrey is there also.”

  “I am sorry for that,” Sir Giles said sincerely. “But I still ask, what do you desire from us?”

  “To go with you. I have long experience of war, and I have broken open many keeps. I want my son out of there—if he is still alive.”

  “That is not unreasonable, but I can give you no answer.”

  “Why not?” Salisbury cried. “Is Geoffrey’s danger not sufficient guarantee of my goodwill? If you do not command the men here, let me speak with Lady Alinor.”

  “I wish I could. Lady Alinor is not here. That was why I could give you no answer. We wait for her. I do not know what she intends. To break open a keep is not so hard, Lord Salisbury, but when the nutshell is cracked, sometimes the meat inside is crushed. I am not so ready to rush to attack when my lord—and your son also—are hostage within.”

  Salisbury rubbed his face and drew a shaken breath. “But what can we do?”

  “I do not know, but Lady Alinor will have some plan, I am sure.”

  That remark left Salisbury speechless for a few minutes. Then he said, “You mean you will sit here and wait for a woman to decide whether or not to attack a keep while your lord is prisoner inside it?”

  “I have no quarrel with Lord Ian,” Sir Giles replied steadily. “So long as Lady Alinor is content, I am content. But she is my lady. My oath is to her—you heard me swear it—and to Lady Joanna after her. I do not say I would not have preferred Master Adam, but Roselynde and Lady Alinor’s other honors are hers to do with as she wills, and her will is to pass it in the female line. Lady Alinor has done nobly by us in the sixteen years she has held the honors. I would be the worst kind of fool to disobey her. She bid me wait—I wait.”

  “But where is she?”

  “I told you, I do not know. Perhaps something detained her at Roselynde—”

  “No. The messenger who came to my wife from her said she had left the keep almost at the same moment that he did. She is not at Roselynde.”

  A spark of concern showed in Sir Giles’ eyes. “That is not welcome news.” Then suspicion clouded his face. “How did you know where to find us?”

  “I told you. Lady Alinor wrote to my wife. I learned you were at Clifford from Lady Pembroke. Sir Giles, it is well enough to wish to obey your lady, but what if she herself be taken prisoner? What if some accident or illness has befallen her?”

  “She is never ill—at least, no illness could stop her from coming here, I am sure,” Sir Giles said, but his voice was absent. Plainly, his mind was elsewhere and his thoughts were making him uneasy.

  “Listen, t
his Clyro Hill, it is not far from here, is it?” Salisbury asked.

  “Some five to eight miles only, but over rough country.”

  “Let us go tomorrow,” Salisbury urged, “not to attack the keep,” he added hastily as he saw Sir Giles’ face harden. “We can leave the men hid, but at least we can spy out the land, and perhaps we can hear some news of Ian and the boys.”

  “Not tomorrow,” Sir Giles said hesitantly. “We only came today—I suppose it is yesterday by now—ourselves, and we came early only by riding through the night.” He hesitated again, then added, “Of a truth, I was surprised my lady was not here before us. The summons said, ‘with all haste’. But if she had some business we are not aware of… One day more we will wait. Perhaps I will ride out myself to look at the keep, but…”

  In the midafternoon, Ian leaned against the breastwork, his whole body heaving with his breathing. For a short while he was aware of little beyond his gratitude for the respite, gratitude that he did not need to push his overdriven muscles to further effort. Soon other concerns touched him. He turned his head. Geoffrey was squatting limply just behind him, breathing as hard as he was. Ian’s eye raked the boy, saw some blood but not much. Geoffrey had done a man’s work this day and had come well out of it—thus far.

  That thought brought another more urgent. How long would they have before the attack was renewed? Ian found an arrowslit and looked out. He smiled with satisfaction. They would need to construct a new ram before setting to work on the gates again. The pitch had not only burnt through the oxhide shield, but the ram itself was burning. Ian looked at the black-coated, burning forms sprawled under, around, and a little way from the ram. Most were very quiet; a few still writhed and made noise. He grinned again, wolfishly. It would not be so easy to find men to work the next ram, nor would their work be effective as they looked above and strained to hear whether another barrel of burning pitch was being dropped.