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  “Yes, ask.” Raymond agreed eagerly.

  He wanted very much to look once more on Alys, even if she would not permit him to touch her. Perhaps Lady Elizabeth would be shocked and refuse, although Lady Elizabeth was almost as remarkable a woman as Alys. The thought was rewarded by the sight of Elizabeth running past him, obviously to fetch Alys down. Having got what he wanted, Raymond was no longer sure he wanted it. What could he say to her? Would she realize the necessity of what he was doing or think he was deserting Marlowe in its time of need?

  William left, returned in a few minutes saying something Raymond could not concentrate on about Martin and boatmen. Raymond suddenly was uncomfortably aware of the disorder of his dress—his chausses hanging loosely ungartered, the strings of his tunic protruding untidily through his unlaced mail. He was fumbling with those strings, trying to tie them or thrust them out of the way when Alys entered. Her face was pale as milk, her eyes unnaturally large and bright.

  “William,” Elizabeth said, following on Alys’s heels, “you will want to speak to the men who are to go.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, smiling and sliding an arm around her waist. Tactful Elizabeth would not say, Leave the poor things alone, but he really did want to oversee the final arrangements and be sure the men who were half asleep overlooked nothing.

  “You are dressed all by guess,” Alys murmured. “Let me help you.”

  “It was your father’s choice,” Raymond said. “He thought it more needful that I go to my uncle and get a writ to curb Sir Mauger than—”

  She came up to him and drew his head down to kiss him. “Do you think I could love you if I did not know that without telling?” Alys sighed as she broke away. “Let me get cross garters for you, beloved. You cannot go—” her voice quivered and she paused and then went on steadily, “with your chausses in folds around your ankles. God knows the king will be ill pleased enough to hear—no! He must not hear!”

  Alys had been trying to make a jest about her reputation as a housewife being damaged by Raymond appearing like a scarecrow, but she suddenly realized that, if Raymond told Henry he wanted to marry her, Henry would certainly do nothing to help them. Likely the king would far rather see all of them dead and buried than have his nephew make so unequal a marriage.

  “What?” Raymond asked. “Not hear what? I must tell—”

  “Tell what tale you like, except about me. Do not mention me or your wish to marry me. Pretend I do not exist, that my father has no daughter.”

  “Why?” Raymond asked, his face crimsoning. “Do not tell me that King Henry was the man who desired you. I cannot—”

  “No, no!” Alys cried, appalled. “I swear the king has never set eyes upon me or, if he has, did not care to ask who I was.”

  “Then why? I am not ashamed of you! And it is none of Henry’s business whom I marry! And I do not care what anyone—”

  He received another kiss in thanks for his passion but also because it was the most effective way to stop his mouth. “No,” Alys agreed, realizing it would be useless and dangerous to explain the true reasons for what she had said. “But remember that Papa has not yet agreed. To tell the king the matter is settled, to use it, perhaps to hasten Henry’s decision, might seem a device to force Papa’s hand. Papa will not like that. There is something else too. The king and queen could not know you would be so idiotic as to fall in love in a poor knight’s household, yet they will be bitterly blamed for what is no fault of theirs by your father and mother.”

  “It was not idiotic,” Raymond growled. “There is nothing idiotic in falling in love with the most wonderful woman in the world.”

  Alys took his face between her hands. “Love speaks. Others might not think I am so wonderful. In any case, before they know me your parents must think the worst of me if they hear of your intentions from the king or queen. Please, Raymond, do not mention me. When we are safe and Papa has made terms with you will be soon enough to tell the world.”

  “You are right. My aunt would write to my mother as fast as she could seize a quill and set it to parchment—and it would not matter whether she praised you or cursed you. That Eleanor rather than I should write such news would certainly throw my mama into a despair and that would set my father against me. Oh, you are right, my love. I will have enough to do without taking time to write long letters of explanation. I will hold my tongue.”

  His arms went out and she came into them, raising her face for his kiss. After a moment she pulled away and hurried into her father’s bedchamber. There had been the taste of salt tears mingled with the sweetness of her mouth. He was thrilled that Alys would cry over his departure when she had not wept over her father’s, but he dreaded an emotional storm. Before he could decide whether to follow her to comfort her, she was out again, carrying a pair of cross garters and seeming perfectly calm except for her pallor.

  “Pull up those chausses,” she said.

  Automatically, Raymond did as he was told and Alys tied the garters, rising when she was finished to show him dry eyes and a smile—a little fixed and meaningless, but a smile. She tied his tunic, settled his mail hood into more comfortable folds, and melted into his arms one last time.

  “You need not fear for me,” he murmured. “I would be worth more to Sir Mauger alive than dead.”

  When he had explained, Alys’s smile was more real, although she knew if the boat was seen and overturned Raymond would never have a chance to be taken prisoner. He must be armed, yet armed he would sink like a stone. A discreet cough in the doorway made her stand away from Raymond, but she still held his hand.

  “You need not fear for me either,” she assured him. “No man will have me but you. Aubery would not take me against my will—we are too good friends for that. And if Mauger thinks he can kill Elizabeth and have me himself—well, a man comes naked to his wedding bed and even a little eating knife stuck in the neck—just there,“ she touched Raymond’s throat, “will kill.”

  Raymond loved Alys, but he really did not know her very well. He smiled fondly at her ferocity. He could afford to smile because he was sure he would get to the king, convince him, and get back in time to save Marlowe. He was young.

  In the doorway, Martin drew in his breath sharply. He also loved Alys, but he knew her very well. He did not doubt for a minute that, if necessary, she would put on a face of such submission and sweetness that a man would come naked to her—and she would kill. He leaned against the door frame to still his trembling. He was old. He did not believe Raymond could convince the king and return in time to stop Mauger. Alys, the child of his heart, who had kissed his ugliness even when she was a baby and had nursed him as gently as a daughter in his sickness, would be damned for the mortal sin of murder.

  “The dock is clear,” Martin said. “The boat and all other things are ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  William looked out at the scurrying activity in Mauger’s camp through the thin mist of early morning. After two days of watching, he knew Mauger had fewer men than he had feared, but more than he had hoped. Thinking back on Mauger’s deficiencies as a leader in Wales, William had determined to try to hold the walls. Mauger’s men might be no better than his. The frantic and sometimes seemingly aimless way they buzzed about the camp certainly indicated poor leadership. William glanced right and left along the walls. What he saw gave him little comfort. The materials for resistance were ready, but the men…

  They were not fools or cowards, not most of them, but they knew nothing. If Harold were alive and Sir Peter, and Raymond had been there as well, there would have been little danger that Marlowe would fall despite the fact that they were few and inexperienced. With someone to tell them what to do and give them heart and example, most would fight bravely. But there was no one except himself and Diccon, and no one man could be at all places at all times. Even if he had been completely well…

  That was no way to think, William told himself. He was better, much better. Again he swept the wall
with his eyes. The veterans, widely spaced out except for a few to guard special danger points, would help, but he still had not quite decided whether he should be at the point of greatest weakness or the place which, if taken, would lead to the greatest danger.

  Here by the tower that controlled the drawbridge and portcullis? There was no need to fear the use of a ram. Mauger would need to fill the moat to use a ram and he was in too much of a hurry for that. Mauger would want to take the tower, of course, because that would make it easy to bring in his whole force with little loss and cut off the defenders’ retreat to the keep. William could see several of the curved supports that would bridge the moat and hold the scaling ladders just across from where he stood. There were more ways than one to take the tower, however. Put enough men on the wall at any place and the defenders could be swamped. They were so few.

  The weakest spot was where the moat ended. To the east, there was a huge outcropping of solid rock, the heart of the rise on which Marlowe stood. William could not see it with his eyes, but it was perfectly clear in his mind. Because it would have taken many years to break through that deep enough to continue the moat, William’s father had compromised with a trench a mere ten feet deep. It had some water in it, perhaps enough to deceive a stranger, but Mauger knew Marlowe well. Although there was no sign that he intended to concentrate his attack at that point, William was sure that was a pretense. Should he be there instead of at the tower?

  The one and only bright spot in a dark future was that William was reasonably sure Raymond had made good his escape. In the morning after the young knight had gone, William had called the men together and told them that help was on its way. They had only to hold out for a few days. He was not nearly as sure as he sounded, but it was necessary to provide some hope or even the experienced men-at-arms would begin to think about yielding rather than facing a certain defeat and probable death.

  Suddenly William stiffened to full alert. The men in the camp had stopped their scurrying about and were gathering efficiently into groups. Calls came from around the walls warning that the form of activity of the enemy had changed all over the field. William watched for a second or two longer, hardly believing his eyes. Apparently Mauger was going to start the attack at once. William had thought it would take at least a day or two more to be ready. Cursing himself for a fool, he turned and bellowed for all to arm and take their places. From below, Diccon’s voice repeated the order and the quiet bailey erupted into frenetic activity. Mauger was cleverer than he seemed, William thought bitterly, not knowing that the mercenary captains had done most of the planning. All that scurrying about had been a pretense to make it seem the attack was not ready. Behind that screen of activity the bulk of the men were arming and positioning.

  Archers were already at the edge of the moat, kneeling to aim. A cloud of arrows rose. William half lifted his shield, but most fell short. The new men flinched and dodged, watching the sky instead of concentrating on the ladders being raised. Worst of all, the arrows flew only one way. It was a bitter thing to watch helplessly, knowing that archers on the walls could do ten times the damage. An arrow shot downward gained force. Had William had a hundred archers, it might have been impossible for Mauger’s men to raise the scaling ladders at all. A hundred? He did not have twenty who could use a bow with effect. Those he had taken to Wales, and most had died there. The few archers he had were at work. Here and there around the walls a single arrow flew forth. One could hardly see them against the cloud coming in.

  One man carrying the device to span the moat cried out and clapped a hand to his shoulder. Another took his place so swiftly that the heavy structure did not even tilt. The other men called jeers and insults. One lousy arrow could not frighten them. William ground his teeth, watching the attack move forward and knowing himself powerless to impede it. His own men were pelting up the stairs to the walls now. His head swung back and forth, now watching the moat spanners being moved into place, now checking on the defenders racing up from the bailey.

  Diccon was still below. William could hear him roaring at the less agile—or more reluctant—to hurry. Then the servingmen began to pour out of the forebuilding and the sheds. They had knives and leather jerkins—those who had any form of armor or weapons at all—but they could push ladders, throw stones, help tip the cauldron of hot oil near the tower over onto those who were climbing the wall.

  William flinched as an arrow struck his shoulder, but it did not bite through his mail. That was a piece of luck. The men who had taken up position nearest him took heart from the incident and looked out at the attackers rather than up above. There was now more noise outside the walls than inside them. Some spans were set and the men cheered and shouted to each other as ladders were maneuvered across and fastened to them to provide a path so that other ladders could be raised against the walls. William drew his sword.

  The quiet around him was ominous. He had defended keeps before. Some men were always quiet before fighting, but most yelled and cursed at the attackers, either in real contempt or to keep up their spirits. There was not, William feared, enough spirit in these poor creatures gleaned from the town and the fields and hardly trained, to raise by any normal means. Well, at least he had not overlooked that problem.

  A ladder was wavering upward some fifty feet away on the opposite side of the tower. The men near it stood still, as if mesmerized. William ran through the door on his side, crossed the tower, came out on the other wall bellowing obscenities and instructions. Roused by his voice, the defenders sprang into action. Two seized long poles with which they hoped to catch the ladder and overturn it. Three others converged on the area, drawing their weapons. One, with a terrified look behind him, ran for the wooden stairs that went down into the bailey. William’s sword point caught him in the belly.

  “One more step and you die long and hard. I swear to you, you have a better chance if you fight.”

  The man whimpered, then drew his own weapon and turned back seemingly now ready to fight. William let out his breath slowly, not daring to sigh lest someone notice and a new panic ensue.

  “Watch that ladder!” William roared.

  The men had thrust it away once, but it was rising again. William’s order, however, was drowned in a series of crashes as all the wooden stairs were pulled sharply to the ground except the one running down the end of the wall that joined the southwest tower of the keep. There was a chorus of oaths and gasps of fear, but William smiled. No live man would come off the walls of Marlowe except through the gate tower or down the last stair, which Hugo and Artur, two longtime veterans, would defend.

  “Now you fight or you die,” William shouted, as Diccon burst out of the tower followed by the crew of veterans who had helped him demolish the stairs.

  William clapped Diccon on the shoulder as they passed each other, and the master-at-arms smiled grimly but did not pause. He went around to the east to direct the men in the section William could not see. The veterans spread themselves thinly along the wall, Arnald and Rolf remaining near the door of the tower both to defend it from enemies and to discourage any of the frightened recruits from trying to escape down the stairs inside. William crossed back through the tower to his section of the wall. He was barely in time to avert another catastrophe.

  The new men might be inexperienced, but the most intelligent that could be found with the proper physique had been chosen. They had quickly grasped the meaning of the demolished stairs. Now all had their weapons out and were determined not to allow an enemy on the wall, reasoning that the men on the ladders would be unable to fight back effectively. To a limited extent this was true, but in their fear and excitement they had forgotten that the best way to deal with scaling ladders was to push them off the wall before they were so weighted with men that they became too heavy to move.

  “Poles,” William bellowed. “Cod-sucking lumps! Push them off with the poles.”

  This galvanized about half the men into activity, while the others gaped, gettin
g in the way. By the time they were organized, one ladder was solid with attackers. William sprang toward that shouting orders to the men with the poles to try another angle and attempt to tip the ladder sideways. He cursed them furiously when their efforts proved futile, but knew it was not all their fault. Bracing himself to meet the coming attack, William urged the pole wielders toward another ladder that was rising.

  Tactical considerations aside, William was not sorry to face some living foes. For three days his feeling of frustrated helplessness had been bottled up, generating a rage to which he could give no expression. God knew, there was not a fault to be found with Alys or Elizabeth, and to rage at the men would have frightened them witless and made them even more useless.

  The top of a helmet appeared at the crenel. William licked his lips as if he would taste the blood he was about to shed and drove his sword forward just as the unprotected face showed. He had his blood. It spatted wall and blade as the sword broke through nose and cheekbone. The man did not even cry out, pain and shock loosening his handhold on the wall so that he toppled backward in silence. The next man could not be taken so easily. Warned that there was more than an inexperienced know-nothing above him, he was now coming up under his raised shield and William could not get at him from the side. However, there was no way to come over the wall without gripping it. Instead of slashing at the shield, William waited until the man put his hand on the merlon, then he cut the hand off. When the man screamed and jerked in agony, William took his head off.

  Along the wall, things were not going equally well. Some ladders had been overturned, but some were disgorging men onto the wall while the defenders were busy in other places. Now William realized he should never have tried to hold the walls. This was as clever and deadly an assault plan as he had ever seen. Either Mauger had hidden his true knowledge and experience very well for many years, or he had gotten very expert help indeed.