"Water," Alan said faintly. "Is there any water? I am perishing for a drink."
A leather was held to his mouth. "If you can drink it, you must be near perishing."
Foul it was, and something moved in it as Alan drank so that he gagged. Nonetheless it was liquid.
"We can plan no further than the door," the master-at-arms said finally. "There is no sense in wasting thought and time on what we cannot even guess about. This much I know from what you have told me. We have lain so still that they are grown somewhat careless. Two men or even one alone bring this"—his term was so foul that the men laughed softly because Alan was usually fair-spoken—"that they call food. How long do they stay? Fifteen seconds? Thirty? In that time, not longer, they must be overpowered without a sound. You understand? Without any sound—no ring of mail on stone, no grunt, no whisper. They must be divested of garments and Adam and Herbert clothed in their stead. Pray God they wear helmets with nosepieces."
A little time longer was spent in polishing the plan, Alan trying to suggest a pattern of behavior to his men that would make them inconspicuous. They were to relock the door, the others could not go anyway without arms or weapons. They were to go without haste, always outward. There must be many new men in Peverel's forces and they should claim to be such if they were questioned. They should ask their way boldly to an obvious place like the kitchens. He stopped speaking at last, exhausted by his hopelessness and his pain, grateful for the darkness that hid his quivering lips and streaming eyes from the men so that they at least could continue to hope. It was better that they should not know how impossible it was for the plan to work, for they were not bred, as Alan was, to set duty above all else. Everything rested on a thread of chance, and the thread was so very, very slender.
"God help us," he sighed.
"God help us," the men murmured devoutly. It was no time to doubt God.
CHAPTER 9
"MY LORD!" PEVEREL'S SQUIRE WAS CRYING ALOUD AND SHAKING HIM.
Peverel came reluctantly awake from a very pleasant dream. "My lord, the village is in flames. Some enemy is upon us."
"What?" Peverel shrieked, starting up. "Who is it?"
"I do not know, my lord. Thus far not a soul has come up from the village and the guards have lifted the drawbridge and closed the gates."
From the battlement Peverel saw that his squire had spoken no more than the truth. The village was certainly in flames and what remained of the ricks were burning, too, as was the stubble in the fields. Then Elizabeth had spoken the truth and Hereford had found her. No one but a man mad with rage would cause such wanton destruction as to burn the ricks, after all he had to feed his own men and mounts. But how had he come questioning through Kettering without the spies Peverel had set in that town hearing of him or seeing the host? A treacherous man suspects all others of being the same, and Peverel muttered to himself of what he would do to those faithless hounds when he laid his hands upon them. He could tell nothing of the raiders, not even their numbers, although now and again a man spurred past one of the fires and the light glittered on helmet and drawn sword.
It would soon be dawn, however, and they would then know enough. Now Peverel was frightened. He had been so sure he would have more time and adequate warning. He could send for the king and he knew that Nottingham Castle was strong and well stocked. It could withstand a long siege, but men who burned ricks of fodder were not planning a siege. Nor, apparently, were they planning to wait before Nottingham until help could come to him; they were planning to attack, and at once as far as he could tell. Well, let them try to assail the walls. As long as he was not drawn out into the open, he would suffer little loss and they would suffer greatly. Peverel looked out at the fires and tried to steel his nerves. He assured himself of the strength of his fortress and swore to God that no trick of his enemy would lure him or his men out of the castle until they showed themselves openly and he knew what force he had to contend with.
Orders rang throughout the keep. The archers mounted the outer walls first, bows ready, staring through the darkness for a mark. Under their protection others made ready the remaining defenses of the outer walls. The round stones for the trebuchets were moved to more commodious positions and the leather ropes that operated them were tested for brittleness, replacements laid ready in case they should tear. Heavy-shafted, iron-shod arrows for the catapults were also carried up from the storehouses in the bailey where they were kept, and the operators of these machines oiled the great wooden screws that drew back the thongs so that they would turn smoothly, whispering endearments to their instruments of death. Those shafts could pierce a horse right through the body and made no work at all of tearing through a ringed-mail hauberk.
In the inner keep fires were set under huge cauldrons of fat and pitch. These would be kept boiling hot, to be poured down trap doors and over the walls should the attackers penetrate the outer defenses, and large stones were set on the battlements to be pushed over for the same purpose. On the north side of the castle a rather sharp drop in the land eliminated both the need for and the possibility of a moat. Here the largest numbers of defenders were concentrated, armed with hooked staves to push over scaling ladders as well as the ordinary weapons.
It depended, Peverel thought, pacing the walls and seeing that all was progressing according to order, on how large a force Hereford had brought and how many men he was prepared to lose. If he had brought enough men and was so furious as to count no cost, even Nottingham keep could be taken. The Constable of Nottingham was shaken with a dreadful indecision. There might still be a chance if he sent out half a dozen riders now under cover of darkness that one would win through to the king. The trouble was that such a plea for help would commit him to holding his keep without attempting to come to terms with Hereford.
Peverel shook his head and muttered that such behavior was foolish. Hereford might have only a small force and might be beaten back without help. Also he had a very powerful bargaining point in Lady Elizabeth and might come to terms very profitable to himself. On the other hand, Stephen was very undependable in such matters. He might not come at all or might dally until too late. Peverel growled that an ill master was worth only ill service and decided to do both. He would send to Stephen who knew nothing of his captive and parley with Hereford also. If he came to terms with the latter, he need only lie to Stephen and say that the besiegers had grown weary seeing that Nottingham was well defended and had departed, or even that he had joined battle and defeated them. He even had prisoners—Hereford's men—to give credence to the tale. His own men's mouths could readily be stopped with gold, they were used to it. At the worst he could say that he was overmatched and had to make treaty lest the keep be taken and the lands destroyed.
If he could delay Hereford with parley until Stephen came, his position would be even better. Hereford would be trapped between two fires, his pride well humbled, and he himself could keep his captive, sell her for ransom, or sell her to the king as a hostage. Peverel's spirits had risen while he considered these alternatives, but they soon fell again. It was entirely likely that Hereford would wait for no parley but would attempt the keep with the coming of dawn. Peverel shuddered and wrenched his thoughts away from his fate if the castle should fall, but he had a plan even for that eventuality. When the attack came, he would stay near the tower where Elizabeth was kept prisoner. If things went ill with them, he could retreat to her chamber, bar the door, and bargain for his life and freedom against hers. He was sure that if he threatened Hereford with killing her and himself the young bridegroom would yield him anything reasonable.
"De Caldoet," he said, turning to the large, brutal man beside him. Peverel had taken Ralph de Caldoet into his service after that knight's own greed and ferocity had ruined him. He was a dangerous man, even when well paid, for he was totally untrustworthy, but no one, it was said, even Hugh Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, or Cain, LordRadnor, was a better jouster, and few men could match him on foot with a sword either. These qualifications were adequate recommendation to Peverel whatever type of beast a man resembled, and thus far he had no cause to regret his choice. He was becoming conscious, however, that it was easier to gain de Caldoet as a retainer than to rid oneself of him if he became unnecessary. Peverel had been about to order de Caldoet to command the defense of the outer walls when suddenly a notion that gave him much pleasure lit up his eyes.
"De Caldoet," he repeated, "how would you like to have a keep of your own again—perhaps even several?"
The big man beside him at first made no reply, only turned upon him the small, mad, greedy eyes of an old boar. The voice, when it came, although gratingly harsh, was cautious. "Such things do not fall from heaven without aid. What I like and just how much I will do to gain what I like do not always lie together."
"Nay, de Caldoet, you will enjoy the doing as much as the prize for it. What do you say to the chance to kill Roger, Earl of Hereford or to make him crawl and crave mercy?"
"All I need do," de Caldoet answered, looking out across the moat to the raging fires, "is to pluck him out of that little crowd he brought, eh?" He laughed and shook his head. "Find another cat to pull your hot chestnuts from the fire."
"No, no," Peverel said impatiently. "I do not think you a fool, and you need not think that I am. What I desire to know is whether, if I can arrange a duel, you will fight him. Besides, the chestnuts are yours also. Hereford will scarcely love you when he discovers that it was you who took his wife and slaughtered his men."
At that de Caldoet's eyes seemed to become even smaller, a red glow of greed and hate flickering in their depths. Still he was cautious. "Him alone I fear not. He is a good man, but no match for me. What warrant will I have, though, that when I have him down his men will not fall upon me."
"If you are sure you can beat him, all else will be arranged to your satisfaction—you can make the arrangements yourself. If things do not suit you, you need not fight."
De Caldoet's glance strayed again to the occasional figure of a knight passing like an evil phantom before the flames. The only thing on earth that he had ever loved was the earth itself. To burn the earth was the only outrage he had ever considered a sin and now he snarled with fury as a ball of fire flew high in the air over the moat and fell into the bailey. Greek fire. Another rose and this time hit its mark. A storehouse with a thatched roof began to burn. Cries of fear from the serfs mingled with quick shouted orders from the men-at-arms. De Caldoet shrugged, but he was angry.
"If he does not fall upon us tonight and end it all, I will kill him for you."
When Lord Peverel had left her, Elizabeth had stood quietly for a long time. She was alike unconscious of fatigue or of the maids weeping hysterically on their pallets. She was not even really conscious of thought or fear for she was in a state of shock. At last her muscles relaxed of their own accord and the torch fell to the ground. Starting as if awakened from sleep, Elizabeth, finally moving, did not seem to be able to stop. Back and forth she paced the rather narrow confines of her prison, back and forth while her mind moved from one phase of self-condemnation only to a still bitterer one.
She knew only too well the pressure that could be exerted on Roger through her captivity, for, free of her wrath, she knew he loved her. Her father too would press him to conform with the king's wishes for her sake, and beyond that, the king might try to claim her dower revenues for her support while he held her which would hurt Roger when he needed money most. Stephen might easily succeed too,
for those barons did not yet really recognize Hereford as their overlord and would likely be very happy to free themselves from his closer dominion by paying their dues to the king. Stephen was much further away, a far weaker man, and by virtue of both of those facts far less likely to interfere in what they considered their private concerns.
Elizabeth did not weep; her grief and self-loathing were too deep for lamentation. It was well that everything that could be remotely thought of as a weapon had been taken from her, for just then, with less than ever to fear on her own account, she was desperate enough to take her own life in removing herself as a threat to her husband. With her own hands, as she sometimes spun wool into yarn, she had spun the rope that would bind her husband's hands. Never had Roger himself seemed so dear, his integrity so precious.
"Why cannot the punishment fall upon the sinner?" she cried. "What will he do, blameless as he is of evil in this matter, what will he do, torn between his oath to protect me and his oath to support Henry? Is this a choice a just and merciful God gives a man, a choice of doing only evil to those who trust him no matter which way he turns?"
How long she had been walking she did not know, but the sound of her own voice roused her somewhat from the inner recesses of her own mind and, as if in answer to her question, flung defiantly at the feet of God, she heard the tumult in the castle. For another long period she clung to one arrow-slit or another, fearing that her desire was deceiving her eyes and ears, but at last it became sure that the men of Nottingham Castle were preparing to defend it. Roger! Elizabeth's heart leapt. Roger had come. Now tears came, too, and she went down on her knees to give thanks to God for what seemed to her like a miracle. She was not thanking God for her deliverance, she never gave that a thought, and if she had she would have realized that freedom was no closer and personal peril was. All Elizabeth cared for in that moment was that Peverel would never be able to carry out his threat and use her as a chain to bind her husband.
The men imprisoned in the lowest chamber of the north tower were even slower than Elizabeth to realize that the keep was arming for defense. This was in no way due to lack of vigilance on their part but to the excellent construction of the towers of Nottingham. There were no windows, not even arrow-slits, in the area in which they were confined, and the walls at the tower base were close to twelve feet thick. No sound could come through that depth of stone and earth, and at first no one came near enough the small grilled opening in the heavy oak door to be seen or heard.