“Yes,” Gisela said, “let us try that way. If we have no luck there, we must return to the village; I must call on Father John before dusk as I promised Sir Clement I would do.”
Edwin fell in behind Gisela’s palfrey. “Young fool,” he commented. “Baron Alain is fair but severe. If he gets caught after this morning’s warning, the Virgin aid him, I say. It’ll be a thrashing—or worse.”
The autumn leaves of the past months had carpeted the track and their horses made little sound as they moved carefully after Algar, the two men peering from side to side for any mark of their friend’s passing.
Occasionally, one or the other made some slight, quaint sound like a bird call, unfamiliar to Gisela, which was obviously used as a signal between them. Apart from that no one spoke, as if each thought there might be others in the woods, searchers or one of the Baron’s warreners about his work.
Gisela’s palfrey gave a shrill whinny suddenly; she pulled her up sharply. Algar was some yards ahead, Edwin quite close in behind her. A slightly built figure stepped from the undergrowth and Gisela saw two dead rabbits dangling from one hand.
Aldith snapped, “Sigurd,” and made to struggle down from behind Algar.
The boy stepped closer and placed a warning finger on his lip. His eyes went from Gisela to his two companions and his mother and he moved cautiously towards Gisela’s mount, which was now standing quietly enough after she had soothed it by gently stroking the glossy neck.
“My lady,” Sigurd whispered hoarsely, “you must all be very quiet and begin to move back towards the clearing. There are men in the charcoal burner’s hut, dangerous men. We must not be caught here.”
Edwin’s eyes narrowed. “Fighting men? Here, in Allestone woods?”
“Aye, routiers, I’m sure. They are settled in up there for an hour or two, I’d think. They have butchered a fallow deer and are roasting the meat.”
Algar gave an infuriated intake of breath and reached behind to settle Aldith again more safely. Edwin placed a warning hand on Gisela’s bridle and whispered, bending close to her ear, “Best we do as Sigurd advises, my lady. We must get clear of this place. We are too few to guard you adequately.”
As Gisela turned her mount carefully on the narrow track she thought she caught a sound of raucous laughter ahead of her. Her first instinct was to forge on in spite of advice to the contrary and see these men for herself, possibly force a confrontation, but better sense prevailed. As Edwin had said, there were too few of them to subdue a company of experienced and well-blooded mercenaries. At least when they were out of earshot she could find out more from Sigurd.
Once they were back in the clearing she leaned down to the boy, her expression stern.
“How many are there? What do you think they are doing there and so close to the Baron de Treville’s stronghold?”
Sigurd had clearly been alarmed by the sight of these men settled in his own bolthole and had been frightened enough to make himself scarce at once. His breath was coming raggedly. Probably when he’d heard horsemen approaching he had taken cover, fearing to encounter more of the mercenaries. He sank down on the ground, clutching his prizes and trying to avoid the accusatory glances his mother was casting him.
He found his voice at last. His two friends were waiting impatiently and he strung out, between gasps, most of what he’d seen.
“I was making for the hut.” He looked shamefacedly at Gisela. “I use it sometimes. It’s been abandoned for some two years or more. I wanted to—skin the rabbits for—”
“Winfrith,” his mother put in grimly.
His look slid away from hers guiltily. “Aye, for Winfrith. When I was in sight of the hut I saw this fellow come out, then another from behind him. They’d made a fire and were roasting meat, venison, I’m sure. I could smell it. They don’t concern themselves about forest law.”
“I know one or two others who don’t either,” his mother said tartly.
Sigurd winced at her sharpness. “One of them is a big hulking brute with flaming red hair and a beard.” Gisela gave a desperate little cry, hastily suppressed.
Aldith looked at her quickly.
“You know something of such a man?”
Gisela shook her head doubtfully. “I saw a man like that at Brinkhurst, but I cannot be sure it is the man Sigurd has seen here. He had red hair, certainly, and was ordering the others—” She broke off, biting her lip.
Catching Edwin’s eye, Sigurd went on with his tale.
“Aye, well, then I took cover and watched the hut for a little while. One after another came out with chunks and gobbets of meat to roast over a sort of tripod made of branches they’d torn down. I can’t say how many there are, at least six, possibly more. They were talking of loot, as far as I could gather, they were laden down with it, taken from some manor near Oakham and laughing about—” he gulped in an embarrassed fashion “—about how they they’d fired the place and—and treated—the womenfolk, and were now stopping for a short rest and to eat before going back to their lord.”
Gisela asked sharply, “Were they Mauger de Cotaine’s men?”
Sigurd shook his head decisively. “I wasn’t near enough to recognise any device; anyway, they were all wrapped up against the cold, cloaked and hooded. I reckon they were all from the same company as—” His voice petered off as he remembered the last time routiers had struck and how talk of that would upset his mistress.
“They should be arrested,” Gisela raged, “now, while they are unsuspecting. In that hut, sure of their own safety, they should be easy to take…”
“We’re too few,” Edwin declared, “and we’re not suitably equipped for a fight. These men’ll be armed to the teeth. They’re desperate fellows, used to fighting off attackers, even experienced well-armed men.”
“More likely they’re used to vulnerable victims,” Gisela snapped bitterly. “Are we to let them off so simply?”
“One of us could ride fast to the castle, inform Sir Clement of marauding mercenaries so close to Allestone and perhaps he’d send out a small company in pursuit,” Algar suggested.
“Yes.” Gisela seized on that suggestion. “Algar, you do that. I shall be quite safe with Edwin, Aldith and Sigurd and we can come on more slowly.”
Algar looked to his friend for guidance. He was reluctant to leave his lady since he had been sent out specifically to escort her wherever she went, but, as Edwin nodded, he made a hasty salute to her and set off immediately back along the track towards the main ride which led to the village and castle approach.
Edwin looked sardonically at Sigurd. “And you, my friend, get rid of those rabbit carcases. You can’t be seen in the village with those. We came out to warn you the head groom is after your blood as it is.”
Sigurd looked down at his prizes with real regret. Poaching these had taken all his skill and they were meant to be offered to Winfrith as proof of his devotion and willingness to risk his hide for her.
Rabbit warrens were the exclusive preserves of the knightly class, only recently introduced to this country from Normandy, and the small creatures were valued for their tender flesh and their fur when other fresh meat was out of season. Winfrith had declared her delight in such delicate fare and he was sorry that he must do as Edwin warned and bury these somewhere close, in the hope he might be able to retrieve them tomorrow.
Gisela waved to Sigurd impatiently. “Never mind that now. I want you to take me back to the hut.”
“What?” Both Edwin and Aldith exploded the single word almost simultaneously.
Sigurd simply stood and stared at her, the two rabbit carcases still dangling from one hand.
Aldith, who had dismounted before Algar set off, hurried over to Gisela and clutched at her arm.
“You cannot mean that, my lady.”
“I do. I want to see for myself what device these creatures wear and in what direction they go. Edwin, you need not accompany me if you do not wish to do so and you, Aldith, must remain here to g
uide Sir Clement’s company when they arrive. If these men leave the hut, it is essential for us to know where they are heading for the pursuit to successfully follow.”
Edwin blustered, white to the lips. “My lady, such a course would be very dangerous indeed and in direct disobedience to the Baron’s orders. I cannot allow you to do that.”
Gisela’s mount sidled as she faced him squarely. “And how do you propose to prevent me? Will you lay violent hands on me, Edwin? Do you think that would please your lord?”
If possible, the tinge of white beneath the normal pallor of Edwin’s skin paled even more as he contemplated in one stark moment of panic what would happen to him if he dared behave as she challenged. His choices were all bad and doomed to disaster for himself. If he allowed his mistress to go into danger unescorted, he would have to face his lord’s wrath; if he abandoned her, the Baron’s fury might well be even worse.
Gisela saw his dilemma and her haughty tone softened. “I have to go, Edwin. Those devils might well be the very ones responsible for the damage to my home and for my father’s injuries. I have to bring them to justice if I can and, mark my words, I will go back alone if I have to.”
Edwin stared helplessly at Aldith, whose expression was as grim as his own. She turned back to Gisela but there was no help there and she shrugged uneasily.
Sigurd said unhappily, “It were best if we go back on foot.”
Edwin dismounted and fastened his horse’s bridle rein to a low branch, then came to assist Gisela down and did the same for her palfrey.
He said doubtfully, “You must understand, my lady, that Sir Clement may not send a company. He may think discretion would be better in this matter while the Baron is away. His main responsibility is the defence of the castle.”
“I know,” Gisela said quietly. “That is exactly why we must spy on these fellows now and discover what we can about their home stronghold.”
Aldith was clearly afraid, not only for her mistress but for her son. She took the carcases from him and nodded as he turned once to be sure of Gisela’s determination, then set off again down the track in the lead.
Their progress was no slower than when mounted, since, before, they had had to go very slowly and watch out for pitfalls that might disable their mounts. Sigurd pulled back the low branches that overgrew the track for Gisela to proceed, and they had soon struck off the track into the undergrowth itself and came out before a slight rise from which they could observe the entrance to the hut itself.
For the moment they could see no movement, though the fire was still smoking and the stink of scorched flesh hung heavy on the air. There were sounds of loud laughter and voices in the hut, many speaking French in a stronger accent than Gisela had observed in her husband’s speech. These routiers were mainly Normans then, not native men-at-arms from this region.
Gisela lay on the carpet of leaves, her head just below the top of the rise, Sigurd on her left, Edwin to her right. Beyond the hut she could see a wider track along which the routiers had obviously come, probably leading towards the Oakham road. Why had they not set off immediately for home ground? Had there been a pursuit? She doubted that.
Knowing the trail of devastation that had been left at Brinkhurst, she thought there was unlikely to be anybody left at the doomed manor in a fit enough condition to instantly order such a move. No, these fellows had been so sure of their own immunity from arrest and punishment they had decided, as Sigurd had said, to find fresh meat for themselves before going further. Probably they were even now within the hut dividing up the spoils.
Her blood was running so hot she had to hold herself in tight control so as not to run forward and confront them. She gave a bitter inward laugh. She was not so foolhardy as that. No, if she could gain evidence against Mauger de Cotaine from the presence of these men so near Allestone Castle, surely she could force the sheriff and her husband to act against the man and bring him to justice.
Was it even possible that Mauger himself was one of the raiding party and, even now, in the hut with his men? Her excitement grew. She wriggled forward a little but felt Edwin’s restraining hand on her arm.
“Be very careful, my lady,” he whispered urgently into her ear.
She realised instantly the common sense of his warning and stayed where she was. Her eyes and ears strained for any further sign of movement from the hut.
It seemed hours while they remained perfectly still, their very breaths held pent against discovery, and Gisela began to feel the chill from the damp ground beneath her begin to permeate the stuff of her closely woven garments. She was becoming so stiff she felt she would be unable to move when that became possible at last.
Suddenly the warped door of the hut was thrust back and a man came out. He began to kick at the still-smouldering ashes of the fire the mercenaries had made. She wondered that he was bothering to be so careful of so broken down a property, then the thought came to her that the hut might well have been used on other occasions, even after the raid on Brinkhurst.
She felt sharp bile rise in her throat. Yes, the place might well prove useful to these men in the future whenever they were in this neighbourhood on some marauding venture and would need a secluded bolthole.
She could hear further sounds of movement then, as if men were rising and stretching, gathering up possessions, preparatory to moving on, and she strained forward again. Both men, this time, kept tight hold on her arms.
One by one the routiers emerged and stood yawning and laughing and gazing contentedly around them. There appeared to be six of them and Gisela noted the red-headed rogue to whom they were turning for instructions. Gisela was almost sure now that this was the man who had led the raid on Brinkhurst and she burned to stand and accuse him but her escorts continued to restrain her and she dared not, at this point, make any sound.
For the first time it occurred to her that there was no sign of horses. The men could not be travelling on foot. Where had they left their mounts? Were they hidden in some well-known spot nearer to the Oakham road? If so, it was even more possible that they could be taken if they had some distance to go before retrieving their mounts. She ground her teeth in fury. Why hadn’t Sir Clement sent men as she requested? Was it really too short a time for that to be possible? It had seemed so long while they had lain silently watching.
She felt totally impotent. If these men walked away now and disappeared among the trees and she dared not follow, there would be no advantage to her. No, she must summon up her courage to follow, whether or not her two escorts resisted her determination to emerge from cover.
The company drew into a single line and the red-headed leader took the rear, looking back as his men began to merge into the undergrowth to see if they were being observed, not, thought Gisela bitterly, that it would have disturbed him in the least. He would simply dispose of any innocent bystander who hindered his progress as a man would swat an irritating fly in summer.
When it seemed that the red-headed man would disappear with the others, her impatience knew no bounds. It could be assumed that the men would take the Oakham road, but she had ridden this part of the wood often with Kenrick and, though she was not so familiar with it as Sigurd, she knew well that there were several other tracks that could lead on to other roads to Empingham or Stamford. She had to be sure which route was followed.
She wrenched her arms free before her two surprised guards could prevent her, scrambled up and began to mount the rise and make for the track where the last man had disappeared from view. Behind her she could hear Edwin cursing softly and the blundering attempts made by the two stiffened bodies to follow her. She did not look back but, holding up her skirts, ran towards the entrance to the track.
The leaf mould and dead leaves beneath her soft leathern riding boots could not make so great a sound, she reasoned, but the mercenary captain must have had ears like a cat for he stopped suddenly and, turning, began to move purposefully back in her direction.
He stood stock-still
, thumbs thrust into his sword belt at sight of the girl hurtling towards him.
“Well, well,” he boomed good-humouredly, “here, mes amis, come and see what Lady Luck has brought us—something even more worthy than those hags we found in that manor.”
He spoke in clear Norman French, without the foreign intonation of his companions, and Gisela thought he was probably from these parts and more often spoke English rather than the Norman French he was using now to alert his comrades.
She gave a startled cry and turned to run back towards her two escorts, but her foot caught in the hem of her gown and the man was on her before she could rise from the stumble and begin to run again. She heard his great belly laugh as a brawny arm seized her shoulder and turned her back to face him, uncaring that her jarred ankle was now giving pain. She felt herself drawn inexorably towards the man’s hard, stocky frame.
She could smell his foul breath on her cheek as she saw his wide grin, which split his bearded mouth, and, in stark shock at his nearness, she glimpsed his rotting front teeth. Gisela fought desperately, but was numbly conscious of the fact that it was quite hopeless.
What aid could Edwin and Sigurd give her if they did come to her aid? They would be helpless to free her. It would doubtless be better for them to stay within cover and give a good account of what had happened when they returned to Allestone or when a rescuing company arrived too late.
She gritted her teeth and was determined to fight the fellow with tooth and claw like an animal. If she was fortunate, he would become so infuriated that he would deal her such a buffet that it would land her unconscious and she would know little more of her terrible fate.
He was laughing and she sensed, rather than saw, some of his fellows return to join him and rejoice in his good fortune to find such a prize fall so simply into his hands. Despite her determination to fight to the finish, she was almost fainting when she thought she heard the thunder of approaching hooves along the track behind them.
The Baron's Bride Page 14
