room.
He looked dreadful. An ugly welt seared across his forehead, blistered and raw, as red as his hair. His eyes were swollen and puffy, his lashes and one eyebrow had been singed off, and when Ranulf flung himself off the bed, he recoiled, hastily holding up his hand to stave off the embrace. “Easy,” he cautioned. “I’m not up to one of your bear hugs yet. I’ve peeled off more skin from this arm than an onion.”
“You’re a ghost,” Ranulf said, “by God, you are! Not even the Devil himself could have come through that fire unscathed!”
Gilbert grimaced. “Scathed I am,” he said. “Broiled might be a better way to put it.”
He was trying hard for levity, too hard. His smile contorted, and when Ranulf grasped his good arm and steered him toward the bed, he sank down upon it gratefully. Luke poured wine and then disappeared; they didn’t even notice that Maude had also discreetly vanished. “Between us, we used up the luck of a lifetime at Wherwell,” Gilbert said hoarsely. “For all I knew, you were dead, too. When Lady Maude told me you were safe, I could scarce believe her.”
“I had a guardian angel, one you happen to know: Ancel. I can see, though, that Maude already told you about my adventures-except for the part about me retching in a ditch, since I did not share that golden moment with her. But do not keep me in suspense, Gib. How did you escape from that inferno?”
“John Marshal and I took refuge in the bell tower. When it began to look as if we’d end up as smoked hams, I suggested we yield. He responded as any reasonable man would, that he’d kill me if I tried.”
Ranulf choked on his wine. “You are joking!”
“No, and neither was Marshal.”
“Name of God, Gib, are you going to leave me twisting on the hook? What happened?”
Gilbert gazed down into his wine cup, frowning. “Something horrible happened,” he said quietly. “The fire had not yet reached the upper story of the tower, but it had spread to the roof. It was only afterward that I figured it out. I think the heat was so intense that the lead on the roof started to melt. When Marshal leaned out of the window, some of the molten lead splashed him in the face.” He shuddered at the memory, gulping down the rest of the drink. “I’ve never seen anything like that, Ranulf, hope to Christ I never do again. His skin just…just melted like candle wax. But the worst was his eye. It was burned away, as if scooped out with a spoon, leaving nothing but an empty socket…”
Ranulf’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he reached quickly for his own wine. “No wonder you looked so greensick! That poor soul. So that was when you escaped? But how? What did you do?”
“What I did was nearly get us both killed. I tried to go down the stairs. You’ve never lacked for imagination, Ranulf. Envision what it would be like to be stuffed into an oven, for that was the tower stairwell.” He gestured self-consciously at his burns. “You can see for yourself. I slammed the door shut just in time. Next, I tried shouting for help, but no one heard. So I did the only thing I could think of: I rang the bells.”
Ranulf was riveted. “I heard it,” he said, “I did!”
“Fortunately, so did the nuns. They are remarkable women, Ranulf. I’d not have blamed them for turning a deaf ear to my pleas. Jesu, look what we brought down upon them! But as soon as they saw me at the tower window, they did all they could to save us, dragging bales of hay from the stables. I anchored the bell rope, knotted it around Marshal’s waist, and lowered him down. When he got to the end of the rope, he cut himself loose and fell onto the hay. I said the most fervent if brief prayer of my life and followed.”
“You mean Marshal was still in his right senses? An injury like that would have driven most men mad!”
“Oh, he is mad,” Gilbert said, very seriously. “Only a madman could lack all fear as he does. I swear to you that he was not afraid up in that tower. I saw it in his face, and that scared me for certes! But crazed or not, he is as remarkable in his own way as those nuns. I cannot even imagine the sort of pain he must have been in. He was soon burning up with fever, too, and sick as a dog. I had to keep reining in the horse so he could puke. And by the time we got there, he-”
“Got where, Gib? Back up to those bales of hay and start over.”
“The nuns did what they could, smeared our burns with fennel and goose grease. We dared not stay there, though, for Ypres would be coming back. The nuns said he’d ridden off to raid Andover, and-as we discovered-he burned it to the ground. I could not take Marshal back with me to Winchester, and he insisted upon going to his castle at Ludgershall. That made some sense to me; his wife could tend to him there. As we were starting out, we got lucky and stumbled onto a loose horse from the battle. I do not know how far Ludgershall is from Wherwell- about ten miles, mayhap more. But it was without doubt the longest journey of my life. We got there, though, Marshal suffering in silence all the way. As I said, an amazing man. I admire him mightily, but I much prefer that it be at a distance from now on!”
Ranulf was quiet, marveling. Leaning over, he emptied the last of the wine into their cups. “I’ll grant you that Marshal must have been suffering the torments of the damned. But what of your own pain? Have you even seen the doctor yet?”
“I think the nuns and Marshal’s lady did right by me, as much as any doctor could do. I will let him tend to me, though, if you insist. But later. Now…now I just want to sit here and get drunker than I’ve ever been before. I know we’re fast running out of food, but how is the wine holding up?”
“I’ll tell Luke to bring up enough wine to fill a bathtub. That way you can drink it or bathe in it or both.” Ranulf smiled crookedly. “My God, Gib, why did you come back? Why did you not stay at Ludgershall?”
“Earl Robert is my liege lord,” Gilbert said, as if that explained all, and for him, it did. “And I’d rather take my chances with you and Lady Maude than our friend Marshal. For all the trouble you’ve gotten me into, not once did you ever trap me in a burning tower…” Gilbert had lain back on the bed; his voice was blurring, his odd, lashless eyelids drooping. Just when he seemed to be asleep, he murmured, “I feel like I escaped from Hell…”
Ranulf reached out, taking the tilting wine cup from Gilbert’s lax fingers. “That you did, Gib,” he said softly. “From Hell back to Purgatory.”
21
Winchester, England
September 1141
“My lady?” Minna’s self-control was impressive; she’d had a lifetime’s practice in curbing unruly emotions. But even her vaunted composure had been affected by the strain of the siege, and she could not completely conceal her anxiety. “Has a decision been reached?”
Maude closed the bedchamber door. “Yes,” she said. “We are withdrawing from the city on the morrow. We have no other choice, Minna. It has become painfully clear that we can expect no aid. Of all the lords we summoned, we’ve heard from none but Chester. And whilst he claims he is making ready to march on Winchester, none of us are willing to wager our lives upon his good faith. If he truly meant to help, he’d have been here by now.”
“Could King David not send to Scotland for more men? Or Lord Geoffrey…?”
“By the time they could get here, we’d all have starved. We’ve talked it over and agree that we must try to break free. Matilda’s men have blocked the roads to the south and east, and now that Ypres has taken over the Wherwell nunnery, he holds the Andover Road, too, in the palm of his hand. But we think the road west-the Salisbury Road-remains open. We’ve decided that I should go out first, ahead of the army, and ride hard and fast for John Marshal’s castle at Ludgershall. Robert believes that would be the safest way.”
Although Minna said nothing, Maude quickly added, as convincingly as she could, “You need not fear for me, Minna. I will be with Brien and Rainald, and they’ll not let me come to harm.”
Minna did not doubt that Brien and Rainald would do all they could to protect Maude, but would it be enough? What if the road was not still passable, as they hoped? Or if they could not outrun pursuit? It would serve for naught, though, to give voice to her fears; her lady well knew the dangers. Forcing a smile, she sought to sound rueful as she said, “I ought to have heeded you, my lady, and stayed at Oxford Castle with Lady Beatrice and Lord Ranulf’s wolf-dogs. It is good of you to resist reminding me of my folly, but I do not want you to fret on my behalf. I’ll be quite safe here at the castle.”
“That might have been true if Stephen were commanding this siege, but I would never entrust your safety to
