By Arrangement

by Madeline Hunter

  “It doesn't matter. I doubt that we would have made it through the bridge gate.”

  She sought the comfort of his arms.

  “How long?” she asked, bravely broaching the subject that she had avoided. “When does Edward land?”

  “I calculate five days, maybe six.”

  “You must get away. You cannot be here when they find out. Tonight, I will distract the guards at the front gate and you—”

  “I do not leave without you.”

  “Then we must find a way,” she cried desperately.

  “If there is one, I will find it. But I think that it is out of our hands. Who knows? When the English army begins ravaging Normandy, the constable and chamberlain may be so busy organizing the defense that they will forget about me.”

  He said it so lightly that she had to smile. But she didn't believe that would happen, and she knew that he didn't either.

  When she awoke to an empty bed the Wednesday morning after the army departed, she threw on a robe and went in search of him. She found him on the roof, gazing toward the west. Dawn's light had just broken, and the city still appeared as gray forms below them. Despite the stillness, the air seemed laden with a strange fullness, as if a storm brewed somewhere beyond the clear horizon.

  She drifted up beside him. His blue eyes glanced at her, then returned to their examination of the field beyond the river.

  “Look there,” he said. “Approaching the bridge.”

  She strained to see. The light was growing and a large shadow on the field moved down the far bank of the river. She watched and the shadow broke into pieces and then the pieces became people. Hundreds of them.

  They moved quickly, carrying sacks and leading animals. The sun began to rise and she saw that the crowd included women and children. They poured through the buildings across the river, past the abbeys built by William the Conqueror and his wife Matilda, and then began massing at the far end of the bridge, shouting for entry to the city.

  “Who are they?”

  “Peasants. Burghers. Priests. They are refugees, fleeing Edward's army.”

  Additional guards ran to reinforce the watch at the bridge gate. The mob of refugees coalesced and their shouts rose. On the near side of the river, two men mounted horses and began riding through the deserted streets toward the mayor's house.

  “Is the army nearby?” she asked.

  “I would guess only hours away.”

  “It comes here? To Caen? You might have told me, David. I would not have worried so much.”

  “I could not be sure. In April, by accident, I found a port on the Cotentin peninsula just to the west. Sieg and I waited there for the English ships to pass before I met with Theobald here in Caen. During the storm, a merchant ship was pushed inland toward the coastal town where we waited. It came within one hundred yards of the coast and did not run aground. The sea must have shifted the coast over the years and the port gotten deeper. Perfect for the army's debarking. Still, the winds may have taken Edward further east to one of the other ports I had found earlier.”

  “You did not want to give me false hopes,” she said.

  “I did not want to give you more worry, darling.”

  “Worry? This is good news! Edward will obtain your release. The flower of English chivalry comes to save you,” she said, smiling.

  “If the city surrenders, it may happen that way.”

  “Of course the city will surrender. There is no choice.”

  “London would not surrender.”

  “London has walls. ”

  “I hope that you are right.”

  “What is it, David? What worries you?”

  But before he could reply, the answer appeared on the roof in the persons of two knights from the constable's retinue.

  CHAPTER 22

  DAVID PACED AROUND the small storage chamber. The space reeked of herring from the barrels stacked against one wall. A small candle lit the windowless cell, and he tried to judge the time passing by its slowly diminishing length.

  He was fortunate to still be alive. Upon confronting him in the hall about his betrayal, the constable had barely resisted cutting him down with his sword. The panic and confusion brought on by the English army's approach had saved his life. The hall had been in an uproar as the constable and chamberlain tried to organize a defense of the city while their squires strapped on their armor. Word had been sent east and south, calling back Theobald's army and rousing the general population to gather and fight this invasion. David had been imprisoned in this chamber to await hanging after the more pressing threat had been defeated.

  Before being led away, he had tried to reason with the constable and chamberlain and convince them not to resist Edward. He had told them that the English army numbered at least twenty thousand, while the constable had at best three hundred men still in Caen. He had reminded them that surrender would spare the people of the city and only mean the loss of property. Only the mayor had listened, but the decision had not been his. The French king had told the Constable d'Eu to stop Edward, and the constable intended to fight for the honor of France despite the odds. Caen would not surrender or ask for terms.

  He strained to hear the sounds leaking through the thick cellar wall. The house had quieted and the more distant activity only came to him as a dull rumble. The real battle would be fought at the gate bridge. If the city could retain control of that single access, the river would prove more formidable than any wall.

  For Christiana's sake, he hoped that the gate bridge held. If the city fell, she would not be safe from those English soldiers as they pillaged this rich town. He doubted that they would listen to her claims of being English, just as they would not listen to him when they broke into this storage room to loot the goods that it contained. He grimaced at the irony. He would undoubtedly die today, but if he lived long enough to hang, if Edward failed to take this city, at least Christiana would be safe.

  He pounded his fist into the wall in furious frustration that he could not help her. She had been sent to Heloise and the other women immediately upon his arrest. She had fought the knights who pulled her away. Those knights had not returned, and he prayed that they guarded the chamber in which the women waited. It would be some protection, at least.

  He lifted the candle and reexamined his tiny prison. He wished it contained other than dried herring, and not just because of the smell. Whoever went to the trouble to break down this door would probably kill him out of resentment at finding nothing of value for their time and labor.

  As if echoing his thoughts, a sound at the door claimed his attention. Not the crash of an ax or battering ram, though. The more subtle tone of metal on metal.

  Perhaps Edward had decided to move on. Maybe it would be hanging after all. He moved to the far wall and watched the door ease open.

  At the threshold, her face pale like a ghost's, appeared a haggard Heloise. Christiana stood behind her holding his long steel dagger at the blond woman's throat.

  “She knew it was the only sensible thing to do, David, but she is one of those women who only obeys her husband, so I had to encourage her,” Christiana said. She replaced the dagger into the sheath hanging from her waist.

  Heloise looked ready to faint. She leaned against the wall for support.

  “What has happened?” he asked.

  “The bridge has been taken,” Christiana explained. Her own face was drawn with fear that she tried bravely to hide. “The knights protecting us left long ago, and I have been watching from the roof. Our army is all over the town, like a mob. It is as you said. In victory they are taking all that they can move. The people are throwing benches and rocks down on them from the roofs, and that is slowing their progress, but not by much.”

  “No one is here,” Heloise cried. “The gate is guarded only by some grooms and servants. When the bridge fell, the soldiers all left, some to fight in the streets, others to run.”

  Christiana moved up close to him and spoke lowly.
“She wanted to take her daughters and run, too, but I convinced her that she was better behind these walls than in the city. They are not castle walls, and will not stop the army long, but the soldiers are killing all they meet. Even from the roof I could see many bodies fall.”

  He looked in her eyes and read her deep realization of the danger which she faced. He turned to Heloise.

  “It is well that you released me, madame,” he said soothingly. “Fortune has always smiled on me. Perhaps she will be kind today as well.” He eased the woman away from the wall. “Let us go and assess our situation.”

  Bad news awaited in the courtyard. The servants guarding the gate had fled, and the entry stood open to the street. In the distance they could hear the screams of a city being sacked.

  He ran over to close and bar the gate. A group of six women surged in just as he arrived. They looked to be burghers's wives and they threw themselves at Heloise.

  “That devil of an English king has ordered everyone put to the sword,” one of them cried. “They are stripping the bodies of their garments and cutting off fingers to get the rings. They are raping the women before slitting their throats.”

  The other women joined in with hysterical descriptions of the horrors they had seen. David barred the gate and looked around the courtyard. Christiana was right. These were not castle walls and they marked the house as that of a wealthy merchant. Eventually some soldiers would decide to batter down the gate or scale their heights. But they were better off here than outside in the city.

  Christiana stood to the side, listening to the tales of mutilation and destruction with an ashen face. The sounds of the pillaging army gradually moved closer.

  He walked over and embraced her. “Do you remember the attic storage above the bedchambers? The one reached by the narrow stairs? Take them there.”

  “And you?”

  “I will join you shortly. It appears that I will need that armor after all. I never thought to wear it against Englishmen. It appears that my father will have his way in the end. It is an ironic justice that my betrayal of him has put you in such danger.”

  “Do not blame yourself for this. You did not bring me here,” she said, instinctively knowing the guilt that wanted to overwhelm him.

  “All the same, you are here.” He hesitated, not wanting to speak of the horror that threatened. “If they come, let them know who you are. Speak only English. Claim the protection of your brother and the King.”

  “It will not matter,” she said, turning to the knot of women nearby. “I have seen it before. At Harclow. It had begun before we left. My brother accepted defeat and possible death to save my mother from what we face today.”

  She approached the women and spoke to them. Grateful to have some instruction that at least offered hope, they fell in around her as she led the way to the tall building and the attic chamber.

  David followed, but detoured to the room he and Christiana had shared. He slipped the breastplate of his armor over his shoulders and then lifted the pieces for his arms. He considered whether, with weapons and armor, he would be able to get Christiana alone out through the city streets. He shook his head. He had no jerkin that identified him as part of an English baron's retinue, and his shield bore no arms that these soldiers would recognize. They would think him French. In any case, he did not have it in him to abandon those other women and girls, nor would Christiana want him to. In death at least he could be the husband she deserved. Hoisting his sword with the other hand, he made his way to the stairway and the hiding women.

  Christiana had already set the women to work. Lengths of cloth stretched on the floor, and they used his dagger to slice off sections of it.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, setting down the armor.

  “Banners,” she said. “The white and green of Harclow. Thomas Holland's colors, and those of Chandros and Beauchamp. We will hang them from the windows. Who knows, it may attract someone who can help us.”

  She looked at the armor and stepped close. “I will do it.” Her fingers began working the straps and buckles.

  It took a long while to fit all of the armor, and he didn't even have the leg pieces. When they were done, she unstrapped the sheath from her waist and handed it to him, then retrieved the dagger from the women.

  He looked a moment at the long length of sharp steel. Their eyes met.

  “It will do me no good against armed men,” she said, slipping it into its sheath on his hip. “And I am not brave enough to use it on the others and myself.”

  The women opened the windows and slid out the banners. The summer breeze carried the sounds of screaming death. As they closed the windows to secure the cloth, a crash against the gate thundered into the attic space. The noise jolted everyone into utter silence.

  The air in the chamber smelled sour from the fear pouring out of its occupants. David glanced at the eight women and three girls. Their faces were barely visible in the room darkened now by the cloth at the windows. He drew Christiana aside and turned his back on the others.

  He held her face with his hands and closed his eyes to savor the delicate softness of her lips. An aching tenderness flooded him, and her palpable fear tore his heart. “When I go to Genoa this fall, you will come with me,” he said. “After this, crossing the Alps will seem a minor thing.

  We will spend the cold months in Italy and travel down to Florence and Rome.”

  “I would like that,” she whispered. “Perhaps we can even cross the sea to a Saracen land, and make love in a desert tent.”

  He kissed her closed eyes and tasted the salty tears welling in them.

  Unmistakable sounds of the gate giving way pounded into the chamber.

  “Look at me, Christiana,” he said. Her lids lifted slowly and he gazed into those liquid diamonds and let her see his soul's love for her. She smiled bravely and sorrowfully and stretched up to kiss him.

  The shouts and clamoring of men pouring into the courtyard bounced around them. Christiana lifted his sword and handed it to him. Behind him the attic chamber held complete silence. The women were beyond hysteria. Heloise's young daughters stared at him with wide-eyed solemnity.

  With one last long look at his beautiful wife, he opened the door and took a position at the top of the narrow stairs.

  The primitive noise of rampage and looting filled the building. David stood tensely at his post, his sword resting against the wall beside him, and waited for the soldiers to eventually find the passage that led to these steps and this attic.

  The door behind him had been closed, but it could not be barred from the inside. Once he fell, there would be no protection for Christiana and the others.

  The bedchambers and hall and lower storage rooms had kept them occupied for at least an hour now. It would not be long.

  If he was fortunate, the men who had broken in might have closed the gate to others in order to keep the rich booty of the mayor's house for themselves and there might not be too many. If he was really fortunate, there would be no archers among them. If Fortune truly favored him, someone in authority might eventually arrive to secure the mayor's house for the King's pleasure and disposal.

  He wondered if there were knights amongst them, and if appeals to chivalry would do any good.

  He could not see the bottom of the stairs, for they rose up the side of the building to a landing before angling along the back wall to him. But he heard the scurrying below, and a man's shout to his friends when he discovered them.

  They mounted the steps quickly, full of good cheer while they traded descriptions of the garments and jewelry and silver which they had already procured. He could tell that they were not knights from their speech. He waited.

  Six men turned the corner of the landing. They began filing up. The first had reached the seventh step from the top when they finally noticed him. Six heads peered up in surprise.

  “Who the hell are you?” the lead man barked.

  “An Englishman like yourselves. A Londone
r. A merchant.”

  “You don't look like a merchant.”

  “None of us looks or acts like ourself today. War does that.”

  They stretched and craned to see around each other.

  “What is behind that door, merchant?” one of them yelled.

  “Cloth. Ordinary and not of much value.”

  “He's lying,” the leader said. “These stairs are hidden. This is the chamber with the spices and gold.”

  “I swear that neither spices nor gold are in this room.”

  “Step aside and let us see.”

  “Nay.”

  More footfalls on the steps. More faces joining the others. The line turned the corner and out of sight. David eyed the long daggers and swords while the word was passed that gold and spices awaited above.

  The closest men eyed him hard, measuring him, trying to decide if the armor indicated superior skill. The narrow steps meant that they could not rush him all at once and the first to come might well die.

  The long row began jostling around. A red head moved through them, pushing upward. “Stand aside!” a young voice commanded.

  The others squeezed over and let the young man pass. He eased up next to the front man. A squire, David guessed from his youth and livery. Maybe twenty years old. Separated from his lord and enjoying his power and status in the hell that Caen had become.

  The squire glanced to David's sword and unsheathed his own.

  “We opened this gate. The spoils are ours,” he said.

  “Since I stand on the top step, it is clear that I arrived before you,” David replied.

  Agitated complaints and curses rumbled up the stairs. The men in the rear began calling for David to be dispatched so they could get to the gold.

  David stared at the squire and the man beside him. The shouts rose and filled the stairway. Both men grew hard faced as their comrades urged them to action. He watched and waited, reading their resolve, bracing himself for the attack.

  It will be the young one, he thought regretfully.