Chapter 35      A Little Siege

 

 

 

In darkness, Edward swung the door open.  Cold flowed in like water, along with a faint, slate blue light.

"You in the shed!" shouted the smith.  He waited for a reply.

For several seconds, nothing happened, then from their vantages at the windows, Burke and James, whispered in unison that the shed door was opening.  Gavin said nothing.

The door stood open a little while, then a voice called from within the shed.  "I think you know who we are," said the voice, pausing.  It was the voice of a Frenchman, but well versed in English.  Despite the natural softness of his native tongue, the man sounded forthright, solid, not at all like an assassin.

Edward had no answer.

The Frenchman continued.  "I have business with the knight called Cadmon," he said.

The Frenchman might as well have said, "And nothing less will do," such was the impression conveyed by his few words.

"What business?" inquired Edward.

"I only transact business with the principal," replied the Frenchman.  "I would speak with Sir Cadmon."

Again, Edward declined answer.

The Frenchman picked up the thread conversationally.  "Well," he said, "Your hospitality is short, but then we arrived uninvited.  Can you spare us some warm soup?  I can smell it simmering from here!"  A pause.  "No?  Ah, cold beef and bread again, I suppose.  Or I could burn down the shed.  That would warm us up, would it not?"  Another pause.  "But, I suppose that would be pointless.  Roast horse flesh never appealed to me much.  On reconsideration, I do not think we will burn the shed tonight."

Several uncomfortable seconds passed in silence.  Both doors remained open.

The Frenchman spoke again, this time without the conversational tone.  "You are surrounded by crossbowmen.  On my signal, you will hear a bolt strike each door and window so that you will know the truth of my words.  Are you ready?"

Edward signaled everyone away from the windows and himself stood behind the door.  They waited.

"De'charge!" cried the Frenchman.  And immediately, the singing hum of bowstring preceded the simultaneous impacts of bolts on all doors and window shutters, back door and adjoining hay grain shed included.

"That is six," said Thomas soberly.

"Seven," responded James.  "We have the talker, too."

At least, thought Stewart.  And they were but five.

"Thank you for the bolts," shouted Edward.  "I hope they are of good quality."

"Oh, they are the finest," replied the Frenchman, conversational again.  "They are Norman.  Now, I ask you, politely, may I speak to the knight, Cadmon Druce?"

It sounded odd to hear Cadmon's name from the Frenchman.  Odd and malevolent.

"There is no knight by that name here," said Edward, his voice deadly calm.

  "Oh?  But how can I believe that?  You may be trying to confuse me.  Have me ride off in the wrong direction, something foolish like that.  We might ride off, but that might be a mistake, might it not?  Have you proof of his absence?"

"Yes," replied Edward.  "Come in and I will show you."

There was a laugh from across the road.  "Another time," came the reply.

Stewart could visualize the sardonic smile on the face of the Frenchman. 

"That bow looks strong, Gavin," said James tensely.  "It would fire a bolt through that flimsy door!"

"Quiet!" whispered Edward.

The Frenchman continued his monologue.  The good humor was gone.  "Good night," he said.  "We will talk again in the morning.  And, please do not try a fight.  You are covered on all sides by excellent crossbowmen.  You men of Norbury have tasted Greek fire.  I beg you, do not provoke its use again."

With that, the door closed and the lamp inside went dark.

"You could have got him," accused James.

"Perhaps," answered Gavin quietly.  "Perhaps not."

Edward looked around the room, the dim light treating his face as if it were carved stone.  He might have been Zeus or Odin.  He checked the door latch, then laid the heavy oak cross beam into its receivers on either side of the frame.

"Light a lamp," he said evenly.  "We will eat and we will prepare."

"We could have gotten the leader!  It would have been over!" said James, imprudently.

"And if we missed?  Greek fire?  You may be prepared to burn this house down around us, but I am not, and neither is Gavin!"

James looked at the floor, then returned to his watch at the window.

"Be careful there," said Edward.  "Those bolts were real enough."

James nodded almost imperceptibly without turning around.

Edward said to everyone, "We will eat in shifts and decide what to do.  They must not see us rattled.  And we must warn Cadmon before he rides into ambush.  I hardly think these dogs will give fairly of themselves."  He crossed to Gavin.  "We must watch all sides of this house.  That tower of yours looks blind.  Is it, or can we command a view?"

"The upper floor has arrow loupes, daubed up.  It would be easy to scrape them open."

"Burke, Stewart, get up there and make us a proper tower.  Gavin, can you show them tools?"

Gavin nodded gravely.  Stewart noticed he lacked the bristle which most men would show at being ordered about in their own home.  Gavin had great balance of nature.

"Good," said Edward.  "We are becoming a fortress.  I have no faith our visitors will stay around, not for long anyway.  They are tired tonight, so they will probably stay with us."

"What if they ride?" asked Burke.

"If they ride, it will be to set a trap.  They have no care of us.  They want Cadmon.  As soon as they figure out he is not here for certain, they'll be off."

"What are we going to do?" asked James.

"Watch, plan, eat, sleep."

"Is that all?"

"For now."  Edward stopped James from further protest with a look.  "When the loupes are free," he said to everyone, "we post watches.  Sleep now, if you can."  He looked at Burke and Stewart.  "You had best get moving.  It will not be as easy as you think."

As they turned to go, Stewart commented to himself that he had not imagined the task easy at all.  But, unlike James, he said nothing aloud.

"It will be cold up there," said Thomas.  "Wear your whole wardrobe."

As he selected selecting warm things from his bag, he reflected how young and vulnerable he must look to a man like Gavin.  Soft and defenseless, like a gosling.  How much more capable was Thomas or even Burke, compared to him.  Well, he was not a man at arms and had no desire to be.  Yet, what was he?

Before they went up, Thomas cautioned, "I have been up there.  The ceiling is very low.  Care for your head."

Gavin stepped into the back room where Aubrey had lain and emerged with a leather sack, out of which poked several tool handles.  In his other hand, he held a soiled rag, lumpy with candle stubs.  He said, "Thomas is right.  The walls are roofed no higher than my waist.  It will be cold, dirty work."  He motioned for them to follow and carrying one sputtering oil lamp, ushered them into the passage which led to the tower.

As foretold, it was cold and dirty work.  After ascending a number of flights of treacherous steps, Gavin directed them onto a floor of ancient and dilapidated boards, planks from the ark itself, Stewart surmised.  They each lit a candle by Gavin's lamp, then crouched and worked their way in.  Pieces fell away into the darkness.

"Rest your weight on several boards at once," said Gavin helpfully.  "Chances are that two boards will not collapse at the same time."  He actually chuckled, the first such sound anyone had heard him utter since their arrival.     Faces lit by candles, he and Burke exchanged glances at this advice.  Indeed!  They laughed, too.  It was strange, mused Stewart, how mortal danger freed the mind in such absurd ways.

"I will return with some sacking to ease the cold and hardness," said Gavin, peering in at them.  "God be with you."

"Thank you," they responded in unison.

When Gavin had gone and his footfalls had diminished, he and Burke took stock of their quarters.  Burke held up a candle to the wall and played the light across it.  Deep indentations told where the arrow loupes were, narrow slotted windows, as wide as a fist.  The tops of the loupes were missing, of course, carried away by the stone miners who had long ago sapped the Roman tower, leaving but half a wall and half height loupes on this upper level.  Unfortunately, the floors below had no loupes of any kind, and even if they did, they would fail to command the view these eventually would.  Stewart stifled a bout of shivering.  He took a deep breath and the cold paralyzed his lungs.  He coughed and recovered.  Cold poured off the stone in frigid waves.

"Well, Stewart," said Burke.  "I suppose we had best get at it.  It will warm us up if nothing else.  And, a word of advice.  As soon as your tool strikes through the daub, they will see it by our candlelight.  From what the Frenchman said, that might make a tempting target, so watch yourself."

Stewart had not considered this.  "Yes, thank you, Squire Burke."

"It is nothing," he grinned.  Then he pulled out a broken pruning hook and, sitting cross-legged and bent, began hacking at the daub.  It fell away in walnut-sized chunks, next to no pig hair having been added to give it strength.

"This will go easily," he said, then resumed his scratching.  His tool struck mud with a dull thump, and occasionally a fill stone with a sharper crack.

Stewart positioned himself as Burke had done, and attacked the next loupe.  Altogether, the tower had six such openings.  They would be up there a couple of hours.  He chopped a while, and paused to reposition himself.  This was hard, cramped work.  He struck the daub over and over again.  Grit rained in his eyes and dust choked the air.  But Burke did not let up as a result of these inconveniences, and neither would he.

They chopped.  Gavin returned with an armful of rags, dumped them in the doorway, bade them good luck, and retired down the stairs.  They each gathered a rag to sit on, which considerably warmed their backsides, and again they chopped.  They struggled through nearly a foot of daub.  Suddenly, Burke cried in a whisper, "Stewart, throw me another one of those old sacks.  I see stars here!"

Stewart hastily scrambled over with the requested article.  Carefully, with their candles pushed aside, they chanced brief glances outside.  Cold air shot in at them, but no crossbow bolts.

"We had best plug this up until they are all open," said Burke, twisting the sack into a shape to fit the hole he had made.

The blocking up accomplished, Burke slid around to the next loupe away from Stewart, while Stewart continued on his first opening.  Eventually, the daub fell away in larger chunks, and using his pruner as a hook, he raked out the remaining pieces.  He looked around to find Burke grinning at him with approval.  The squire tossed him a sack and returned to his job.

Stewart felt gratified by his companion's notice, and of his disregard once notice had been given.  Burke trusted him to plug the loupe correctly.  That trust warmed him.

They chopped and raked another loupe, each, sealing them with rags after surreptitiously peering out and seeing no sign of a crossbow or a bowman.  Burke fell back on his hands with a sigh.

"Take a rest," he breathed.

Stewart dropped his tool, and scooted around to face the young squire, extending his legs as he did so.  They enjoyed the moment.

"Say, Stewart," said Burke a while later, "that girl back in Oakford?"

"Mayda?"

"Yes.  You two seemed to get along.  Are you going to wed her?"

The question came as one comrade's genuine interest in the other's affairs.  In the semi-darkness of the tower, under siege, Stewart did not feel like evading the question at all.  He thought about it but a second.  "Yes," he said.  "I hope to."

"Did you try her first?"

"Well, no.  But we talked a lot."

"Just talk?"

"No, not exactly."

Burke threw back his head knowingly.  "What about Thomas?" he asked.  "Will he release you from service?"

"He said he would help me secure a position."

Burke tilted his head sideways, trying the thought on for size.  "Thomas is a generous man," he said at length.  He contemplated his feet and flexed his toes.  "I have thought about marriage, myself," he said with leisurely aplomb, "but I will wait for some rich baron to reward my services with a comely widow with an estate!"

Stewart smiled and said, "I would settle for being a tradesman, with Mayda keeping house above the shop!"

Burke nodded, but Stewart could see his companion's daydreams occupied most of his attention.  Their dreams, and their prospects, were much different.  At length, Burke sat up and moved on to the next, and last arrow loupe. 

Edward met them as they emerged from the tower passage.

"Done?" asked the smith.

"Done," said Burke.

Stewart agreed.

"Good work.  What did you see?"

"Nothing," answered Burke.

"It is dark," said Stewart.

The smith took this in and rumbled away.

Una placed a pot of hot liquid, broth or something of the like, on the table.  She also put out a board heaped with hard-crusted bread baked the day before.  Burke and Stewart noticed it with appreciation and fell to decreasing its quantity.

James Beaumont paced.  "Edward," he said, insolently addressing the smith without title, though Edward seemed to respond favorably to the raw edge of it.  "One of us must get out to warn Cadmon."

"I am aware of that."

James said nothing, but followed the smith with his eyes.

"Are you volunteering?" asked the smith.

"Maybe."

Edward contemplated the younger man, who quickly demonstrated the air of fragile pride he so easily precipitated.  The smith turned away.

"I said I volunteered!" hissed the young knight.

Without turning, Edward said, "I heard you."

"Well?"

Ponderously, Edward turned and approached him, advancing to a distance just inside what a man would need to feel comfortable in the presence of another.  Stewart shot a glance to Thomas, who had awakened from a nap on the bench, and was also focused on the pair.  Everyone was awake and everyone watched with growing concern.  A cork was about to blow.

"Sir James," said Edward with little sense of respect, "Cadmon may place confidence in you, but I have seen you do nothing right since you joined us.  You may not be a traitor outright, but you are a lame horse at best."

"I have been waiting for that!  Truth at last."

Edward shrugged.

"You think it was my fault!"

"What in particular?"

"Aubrey!"

Silence, utter and accusing.

James narrowed his eyes.  "I would call you out for that!"

Edward managed a faint smile, dismissing James, a move designed to accomplish little but infuriate the young man.  Stewart winced.  Why, Master Edward?  Why push it?

"I call you out," said James in a low voice, the growl of a pit bull.

This made no impression on the smith, who seemed as cold and insensitive as one of his anvils.  His pride was far beyond hurt by someone as insignificant as James Beaumont.

"I said I call you out!"

"Call away."

Frustration seized James.  He shot a glance at those who watched, and like a cornered dog, lashed out unthinkingly.  He went for his knife.

The next thing to happen surprised everyone.  In one explosive, unbelievably fast move, like the sudden lunge of a bear, Edward had James's knife hand by the wrist, pinning him.  The smith's arm muscles had no equal anywhere in Norbury, and on sheer strength, he could best the strongest.  James may have been frozen for all that he moved.  He and the smith stared at one another.

Stewart expected to see James's throat torn out.  The smith looked that fierce.  He looked bestial enough to rend flesh in any manner invented by nature or Man.  But nothing happened.  For seconds they stood thus transfixed, then Edward moved James's knife hand down to the level of his sheath and let go.

James looked bewildered.  He stood frozen.  Not only him, but everyone.

Then, the smith smiled, not derisively, but with genuine humor.  The ragged beard began to bob, and it took Stewart a moment to realize the bobbing beard betrayed quiet laughter.  But it was not belittling laughter.  Approval squinted in Edward's eyes.

"You will do!" cried the smith.  "By God's teeth, you will do!"

Still bewildered, but thawing, James looked to those watching the drama.  He seemed to ask for explanation.  He returned his gaze to Edward and automatically sheathed his knife.  The smith's eyes shone with delight.

Edward clapped a massive arm around James's shoulders and said, "Any man willing to defend his honor with that much vinegar has something right about him.  You have the God blasted habit of mounting every horse from the wrong side and jabbing your spurs before you ask with your thigh, but you have courage, and that will stand before a lot.  Yes, you will be the one to warn Cadmon.  You leave tonight."

And before James could react, much less express his gratitude, Edward turned away and began digging into the bread, the episode placed behind him and seemingly forgotten.  James stood at a loss, but Thomas gave him a thumbs up and everyone smiled, as much in relief as in sympathy.

The mortar had re-secured the stones.  They were a solid wall again.  Assassins, beware! challenged Stewart in his mind.  He may be in mortal danger, but he felt safe.

Edward sat on a high stool, munched his bread and eyed the door.

"Is there any way out of here, Gavin, other than the doors or windows?  It is a cinch those are watched well enough."

"No."

"'Tis a pity we did not keep a horse in here with us.  I think we should be struck for poor castling."  The smith sighed deeply.  "Ah, but the edge is ours, I think, even so."

"I will pray so," said Gavin.

Edward turned to him but said nothing.  He chewed another gob of bread.  "Thomas," he said, "each of us need do a turn in the tower.  Can you mount next?"

Thomas, in answer, took his heavy cloak down from a peg and pulled it around him.

"We left a pile of candle stubs up there," said Burke.

"Fine.  But I will likely sit in darkness to keep my night sight sharp."

Edward said, "One of us will relieve you in two hours.  I think that is about as long as we can keep anyone up there."

"It is fierce cold up there," agreed Burke, "and we were working."

"Two hours," said Thomas.  "Unless I see men with bows first."  And he swept into the passage without another word.

"You need a horse," said Edward to James.  "But, I do not think you will get one.  How are you on foot?"

James pulled himself up to full height.  "I will not stop until I see Cadmon."

"You will likely find him riding at you.  He is due back tomorrow or the next day."  Edward pulled back the shutter and took another glance out the window.  "The night is dark.  I think you can squeeze out unseen with a little luck.  Are you game?"

"Any time you say."  James carried his pride stiffly, but like a mean dog who has been backed down by a strong man, he now respected the smith.

"Una," said Edward, "as soon as you can fix up a larder bag."  He left the sentence unfinished.  She understood readily enough and hurried to the food stores.

"Get yourself ready," said the smith.  "There is no use giving them time to figure out our moves.  I doubt if they will expect much out of us tonight."

James assented by gesture and quickly donned his winter clothing, putting on two extra pairs of wool socks and wrapping his legs in sacking.  He took his axe and laid it on the table.

"Sword?" asked Burke.

James shook his head.  "If I fight, it will be close and secret.  Besides, the sword is too heavy.  I will be trotting tonight."

And so, in a few minutes, Edward caused a bright light to shine in the chicken house beside the main room with appropriate noises.  As this began, while the rest of the house lay in total darkness, James slipped out by the rear door and disappeared from view.  Thomas, who had been warned of the strategy, said he saw him briefly as he crossed into the woods outside the barn lot.  Having got so far without hindrance, Edward supposed he would get away altogether. 

Morning arrived.

Stewart awakened at the same time as Thomas.  Edward was coughing his morning cough.

Thomas said abruptly, as if the thought had pestered him all night long, "They will waylay him before he sets eyes on the house."

Edward, heaped against the wall atop the stool, cleared his throat in a series of prolonged hacks, then agreed.  "Cadmon wants these men more that anything in the world," he said.  "He is resolved they shall meet."

"But the time and place should be fairly set."

Edward agreed.

Thomas looked thoughtful.  They all knew what the others knew about Cadmon, now.  Stewart was certain Thomas's unspoken words would have been, "This is Cadmon's business.  We are here to back him up."

And that, Thomas and Edward would surely do, for from certain angles, they seemed cut from similar cloth.  They were knights of rare honor.  Or rather, more deeply, they were knights.  He had seen many of that rank, and for most, they were men first who wore the clothes of knighthood second.  But for Edward, the knight who was not a knight, and Thomas, prodigiously born with the nature of a knight, the garb of knighthood covered much more.  They were knights first and men second, men to be trusted in the winds of changing fortune, men who had nothing to prove but much to live up to.

And what of Cadmon?  Edward and Thomas stood to him as knights stand to their king.  He cast a shadow on a sunless day.  Cadmon was the pattern by which men such as Edward and Thomas were cut.  To them, Cadmon existed in a pure form, a spirit of knighthood for others to dream by.  Yes, that was Cadmon.  A man to dream by.