Emerald Silk

by Janet Lane

  Mary and Libby peeked around the corner, open-mouthed.

  The storage building door was open, no animals inside. Where was everyone? The flames grew, racing up the side of the structure. From behind the other closed door a man appeared, hoisting a torch, touching it to the old wood.

  Maud pulled a dagger from her thigh. “You there. Stop.”

  He turned to her, his face calm and deliberate.

  The door swung open, revealing three more men. Armored. Dressed in black and white livery.

  The tall one cast a sharp, assessing look at Maud.

  She hesitated. Sweet misery. Gurvis Cooper, from Hungerford. Fear clenched her stomach. Rauf is here.

  She flung the dagger at Gurvis, piercing his arm.

  He cried out and removed the dagger, examining the wound. “Foul wench.” He started for Maud.

  To the left a dozen archers drew bows, aiming at the top of the north castle wall.

  Maud lifted her skirts and ran. Mary and Libby had disappeared.

  Maud’s heels pounded on the cobblestones, sending shocks up her spine. Must warn Tabor. Atop the castle curtain were wall walks where the guards stood watch. They leaned over the top, looking toward the burning storage barn.

  “Get down,” Maud screamed. “Duck!”

  From behind the fishmonger’s stall a rain of arrows sprung with a loud whang. Their metal heads pierced the guards’ armor and the men fell like broken bottles over the edge, one dropping so far as the moat.

  Hungerford’s mounted knights rushed out from the market stalls, thundering toward the drawbridge.

  Maud shrank back, dreading a glimpse of Rauf.

  “An attack. Draw the bridge.” A chorus of alarm rang from within the castle curtain.

  From the gatehouse, another guard pulled the drawbridge. Its mighty chains rattled and the bridge rose. With a loud clank it stopped abruptly, the bridge poised a foot above the road.

  Merchants bringing provisions to the castle dropped their goods and carts, and scattered for cover.

  “The portcullis,” another guard screamed. The iron gate screeched, then stuttered to a halt half way down.

  A guard shouted a string of curses. “They jammed it, too.”

  A roar filled the air, and a large, burly knight led the charge into the bailey. His big head was armored and decorated with a black and white emblem, his horse’s armor colored the same. His bulbous nose poked out of the helmet, and his powerful legs resembled tree trunks as they hugged his destrier.

  The legs that had kicked her poor brother as he begged for warmth. Rauf. Maud's heart seized. She hid behind a palisade until he passed the curtain, then fought her way through the confused crowd, jumping onto the slightly raised drawbridge and running into the bailey as if the devil himself pursued her. She bounded for the church, hoping to find Father Bernard and learn where Tabor was.

  Above her, Tabor’s guards filled the wall walks, pumping arrows into Rauf's men. “Stop them.” One cried, and another clutched his chest and fell.

  Below, several of Rauf’s men fell, clasping the arrows that doomed them.

  More Hungerford men rushed in. Flames burst from the stable. “The horses. Release them,” men cried out. Stable boys opened the gate to the fence that enclosed them. Horses thundered out, eyes bulging, hooves pounding.

  Tabor’s knights poured down the steps from the great hall. Yellow hair streaming from his helmet, John led the defense, hacking at the enemy with his sword.

  Maud reached the church and pushed through the door. “Father Bernard. Father!” She ran past the rood screen, checking the sacristy. It was empty.

  Outside again, Maud stumbled past the pigs, now loosed from the sty. Excited dogs nipped at the pigs’ heels. A short mongrel bit a horse’s leg in error and paid dearly, filling the air with his cry of pain.

  Maud ran toward the kitchen.

  A warhorse thundered in front of her. Rauf. His sword was bloodied, and he clutched a strange, two-bladed dagger that dripped with blood and human flesh.

  Rauf spied her and turned the evil-looking dagger in his hand. “Maud. Time to pay for your treason.”

  She screamed and pulled another dagger from her calf. If he tries to take my tongue, I will kill him.

  A Hungerford knight grabbed Maud, stopping her.

  Maud turned to Rauf. “What,” she taunted. “Be you so cowardly that you need help to down a woman?”

  Rauf scowled at his knight. “Let her go.”

  The knight released her.

  Rauf pursued, his huge horse pounding the earth.

  Maud ran in a rabbit pattern, rushing for the kitchen.

  He cut her off.

  Desperate, Maud headed for the chicken coop, steering clear of the warhorse before it trampled her.

  Rauf slid off his horse, armor clanking as he landed, and tackled Maud. She crumpled to the ground. The earth punched the air from her lungs, and she lost grip of her dagger.

  Rauf rolled with her.

  Her dagger lost, Maud screamed, punching his breastplate, hurting her hands but not Rauf. “Let me go.”

  * * * * *

  The stream water cooled Sharai’s throat. She splashed some on her face to cool her bruised cheek, and on her earlobe, still throbbing from Kadriya's hesitant stitches. Rising, she wiped her hands on her skirt, then approached the tall warhorse, reaching up to rub his neck. “You’ve been good to me, Valiant,” she soothed in the melodic tone she had learned from her mother, using the name she’d given him in honor of his swim through danger. “Just a jot farther. We must find her.” Stepping up on a large fallen log, she slipped her foot into the stirrup and used the pommel to pull herself up onto the saddle.

  Her throat was hoarse from calling for Kadriya, but she had not found a trace of her. She was a smart girl. She could find her way to St. Giles. The thought gave her hope.

  The land had changed in character. Here the fields were more defined, the hedgerows healthy and well trimmed. The golden grain, not yet harvested, stood tall, brushing Sharai’s legs as she rode. Her heart beat stronger. Coin Forest is not far.

  To the west the sun dropped, shooting her last quiver of rays, so weak that the vibrant colors in the hills faded to grey.

  “Tabor.” Fragments of their time together flashed through her mind: his playful teasing about the frog bone, the thrill when he told her he needed no cake, the joy of their bodies united in love. Her soul ached, as if a golden thread of love connected them, but the thread had frayed and her wound, neither bleeding nor healing, remained.

  Her decision to leave was right, but the harshness of living with it hurt all the way to her bones.

  To warn Tabor, she must risk seeing him and summoning her will to leave him again. She could not stay and destroy him.

  Night continued to fall, leaving the hills barely visible in feeble grey. A breeze swept through the tall grasses, curving them gently in the wind. He loved this land, and she had come to love it, too. She must warn him of Hungerford and ask Father Bernard to help her find Kadriya and get them safely to an abbey.

  At the top of the next hill she saw the castle, rising high behind the village.

  Flames leapt above the buildings, some two hundred yards distant. The bailey fires, would they be so tall so early? A thorn of anxiety pricked her. She urged Valiant into a breathless run down the hill.

  Closer, it became clear that there were two fires, one in the village and another in the bailey, where the flames cleared the curtain. Coin Forest was under siege. She was too late.

  Sharai raced toward the drawbridge. A group of knights wearing black and white livery clustered there, blocking entry to the castle. She reined the horse to a stop and backed away to avoid being seen.

  To her right, several buildings burned, and more Hungerford knights and archers roamed. She picked the opposite way, moving toward the darkness and an uneven collection of small roofs to her left. Peasants’ cottages. Sharai urged Valiant away from the fires and the mill.
She entered the humble section of the village.

  People rushed by, wide-eyed, carrying chickens, tools, babies, and squealing pigs, running from the village. Sharai pulled Valiant in front of a fishmonger’s cottage. “Have you seen Father Bernard?”

  A lean man slung nets over his back and dragged a bag from the door. “Prayers won’t help you. Run.” He swerved around her horse, hurrying toward the fields.

  A young boy scurried nearby, chasing chickens. He caught a tan cockerel and stuffed it into a large burlap bag. He turned his head while knotting the top of the sack and his unruly hair and profile became visible.

  “Tommy.”

  Tommy turned and recognizing her, his nostrils flared in anger. “You’re back, too?”

  “What do you mean, ‘too’?”

  “You and Kadriya.” He spat the words out. “You two did this.”

  Sharai's heart stuttered. “Where is she?”

  “She’s going to hell, where you’ll soon join her.” He lifted the throbbing, squawking bag of chickens and turned his back on her and his home.

  Sharai placed her hand over her heart. Sweet saints, Kadriya was here. But where? She couldn’t pass the enemy knights at the drawbridge. How could she get in? Long planks of wood stored under Tommy’s roof caught her eye. The stilts. She remembered walking on them, so high that on the hill she could see over the castle curtain. She jumped off the horse and grabbed two pairs of them. Balancing them awkwardly across the saddle, she headed to the left, guiding Valiant along the shoreline of the moat.

  She reached the south side and then slowed, trying desperately to remember that day, the thrill of balancing on the stilts. They had been near the garden, far from the great hall and kitchen, close to the pigsty. The knights would likely storm the great hall and take the keep, but they would not fight over beans or pigs.

  Follow the smell. She closed her eyes, searching past the smoke and burning pitch for the scent of pig manure.

  At the next curtain section, she caught a strong whiff of it. Just a little farther. Here.

  Valiant slid into the deep moat, head bobbing as he swam. He struggled, then found his footing and they reached the curtain. She slid off the destrier and lay the stilts on the ground, facing them together to form two H’s. Resting the top two stilts on the footboard of the lower two stilts, she ripped strips from her skirt, tying them together, then propped the improvised ladder against the wall.

  A quick glance at the height of the curtain dissuaded her for a moment. She could never climb that high. Even if she could, she had no dagger to defend herself. But Kadriya was there, maybe Tabor, too. She pushed her doubts away.

  She checked her silk headscarf, making certain it concealed her hair. To cover her disgrace, she had looped the bottom so it dangled as if her hair were still long. The color worried her, bright orange and red that might draw unwanted attention, but inside the walls chaos reigned, and she would, with luck, land in the darkness of the garden.

  Curling her toes around two chipped stones on the wall, she gripped the wooden poles and gained the first high step. A splinter drove into her hand. She balanced herself, pulled it out, and grabbed fistfuls of her skirt to protect her fingers. The next step was too high to reach. She wobbled on the stilts. She would have to step on a stone to get high enough to reach it. Leaning into the wall, she felt for a stone large enough that she could gain footing. She found one. Pain shot through her back from the awkward angle, but she maintained the stance to avoid swinging away from the wall on the stilts.

  Taking a deep breath, she committed herself and curled her toes around a stone. She strained upward and found the top footboard with her left foot. She slipped off, but found it again.

  From the other side of the curtain horses whinnied and cried, pigs screamed, and the clash of metal was joined by grunts and moans of death.

  Sharai's muscles burned. She gritted her teeth, lifting herself higher.

  Her second foot found the board, and her leg muscles relieved her shaking arms. She pulled herself up slowly, gaining enough height that she could grasp the top of the wall and see over.

  The fires bathed dancing light in the bailey below. To the far right the front face of the stables had collapsed into the fire. To the distant left the church burned, consuming the roof and cross. Poor Father Bernard. Flames shot high from the knights’ housing, too, illuminating the Hungerford knights, who rammed the gate some sixty yards distant. Defending knights squared off, fighting the invaders, and servants and children cowered in the shadows.

  Sharai spied the wall walk and a surge of hope lifted her. The wooden walkway would allow her to move freely, high above the danger below. Rolling over the top, she landed on the high platform and gained her bearings.

  By the entrance to the keep, a tall woman broke free from the snarl of people, running in Sharai’s direction. As she neared the south wall, the color of her hair became apparent. Red. Maud. A giant of a mounted knight pursued her, weaving in an attempt to cut her off. Maud veered away at the last minute, running for the chicken coop, yelling curses at him.

  They came closer and the big knight jumped from his horse, tackling her. She punched him with the heel of her hand, sending his helmet flying and revealing a beefy face with a bulbous nose.

  Rauf.

  He grabbed Maud’s arm, but she kicked free and scrambled toward the garden, just below Sharai.

  Sir John rode up, his yellow hair dripping with sweat and plastered against his head. He angled his horse close to Rauf, and swung his sword, striking Rauf on his back. Slightly off balance, John recovered and raised his sword again.

  Rauf spun, well balanced on his thick, muscular legs. He pulled a sleek sword and ran John through.

  Sweet Mary. Sharai reached out to John, but could not help him.

  He fell.

  Rauf laughed with unsettling glee. He pivoted and caught up with Maud, They struggled, twisting, pulling, and Rauf struck her. “I told you I’d take your tongue.”

  Maud grunted and kicked, reaching for the weapons she wore on her legs. When that failed she splattered something in his face. “Dog-hearted whoreson! Go you to hell,” she shouted.

  Rauf wiped his face, looking at his hand. “Shit.” He twisted her arm and grabbed her hair, jerking her head back, brandishing a bloodied knife.

  Sharai glanced about frantically for a weapon. A bow and arrows rested at the southeast corner, too distant, and she was unskilled at archery. A stack of stones caught her eye. She grabbed a large one, throwing it at Rauf’s head. It landed too far left. She hurled a second and hit her target, his big head lurching from the impact.

  Eyes slit in anger, Rauf looked up at Sharai. “The Gypsy.”

  “Yes,” Sharai yelled. “The one that bested you.”

  Responding to the diversion, Maud kicked him, wrenching herself free. She pulled a dagger and drove it toward his neck.

  Rauf blocked it with his armored forearm. “Whore.” With a primeval growl he swung his fist into her face.

  Maud’s knees buckled from the impact, and she fell, silent.

  Horrified, Sharai sought to distract him again. “Coward. White-feathered coward. So easy to fight a woman, eh?” She forced a taunting laugh. “But remember me, Rauf?” she taunted, “The little girl at St. Giles’ Fair? I can fight you.”

  Huffing like a cornered boar, Rauf left Maud sprawled on the ground and strode toward Sharai.

  From the east wall came the sound of wood splitting. An arrow burdened with pitch spattered its fiery fuel onto the wood at the southeast corner of the wall walk. Other fire arrows followed, and the walkway disappeared in a cloud of black smoke and orange flames. To her left, the wall walk ended abruptly where it led to a bolted, locked door.

  She was trapped.

  Directly below her in the garden, the healthy bean plants grew on their stakes. The raw ends of wood pointed at her in challenge. Sweet saints, she would impale herself if she jumped there.

  Rauf ran under
the walkway, glaring up at her with murder in his eyes. “Gypsy dung. I remember your dagger, and I have a special one for you.” He hurled a metal ball at her. It flashed in the air as it flew toward her face.

  Sharai dropped on the floor of the walkway.

  The grapnel hook caught in the wood, just an inch from her ankle.

  Below, Rauf dug his heels into the knotted steps on the rope attached to the hook and started climbing.

  Sweet saints. Sharai grabbed the hooks, trying to wrest them free from the wood, but Rauf’s weight only made the hooks bite deeper into the wood.

  “Come, Gypsy whore. Show me that pretty face.” Rauf climbed with surprising agility to the walkway. “Come here, and I’ll show you how I fight.” He drew the dagger with two vicious-looking blades.

  Sharai struggled to swallow. She had no dagger, no weapon of any sort. She edged backward toward the flame-filled corner, the acrid smell of burning pitch and her own terror filling her lungs.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tabor joined his knights at the southwest tower of the curtain. Kadriya had arrived with her warning at almost the same time as Rauf, giving Tabor only enough time to don neck and breastplate armor, but he and his men had been able to settle Kadriya and the women safely with Cyrill above the solar, and they had heated pitch and distributed a good supply of stones and arrows about the inner curtain walkways.

  Rauf’s men had breached the main gate, but they would not take the castle. Not this time.

  A narrow wooden walkway hugged the stone curtain that circled the perimeter of the bailey and led straight ahead eighty yards, where enemy knights held the exterior southeast tower. Tabor turned to his knight, Walter. “How many are there?”

  Walter looked from Tabor to Henry then Wilson, counting. “Twice our number.”

  “From their position they threaten the solar. Drive them out of the tower.”

  Tabor shot an arrow, piercing a knight in the chest. He fell. The others rushed back to the safety of the tower.