penetrate it? The trap fitted close, no lance nor sword could be thrust through the cracks. Even if they should climb up and batter a way through with an axe, only one could emerge at a time, and they two above were armed and ready. Yves lay braced, willing his weight to be double, spreading arms and legs, holding his breath. For all the bitter cold, he was in a lavish sweat.
“Look up, my heart,” said the voice at the other end of the ladder, almost gaily, “and show me that gallant face again, bruises, grime and all. Let me look at my prize!”
Yves lifted his head from his arms and stared dazedly along the ladder into bright, gold-gleaming eyes and an indulgent, glittering smile. A young, oval face under that thick, close cap of black hair, high-cheekboned, thin-black- browed, long-lipped, and with a lean, arrogant beak of a nose, like a scimitar. Smooth-shaven as a Norman, smooth-skinned as a girl, but of an olive, glossy smoothness.
“Take breath, and let them rave, they’ll tire of it. If we failed to get past them, neither can they get at us. We have time to think. Only keep well below the parapet. They know their ground, and might think it worth setting their archers to watch for an unwary head.”
“How if they set fire to the tower and burn us out?” wondered Yves, trembling as much with excitement as fear.
“They’re no such fools. They could not, without setting the hall ablaze with it. Moreover, why be in haste to do anything, when they know we cannot break out? Here in the cold or in a cell below, they have us cornered. At as this moment, true enough. You and I, Messire Yves Hugonin, have some thinking of our own to do.” He cocked his head, raising a hand for silence, to listen to the babel of voices below, which had sunk into a low, conspiratorial muttering. “They grow content. We’re securely trapped up here, they’ll leave us to freeze. They’re needed below, all that’s wanted here is a couple of men to watch our only way out. They can wait to flay us.”
The prospect did not seem to dismay him at all, he stated it serenely. Below them the hum of consultation receded and stilled. He had judged accurately, Alain le Gaucher knew how to concentrate on what was most urgent, and needed all his company to man his stockade. Let his prisoners, lords though they might be of a tower-top some dozen or so paces square, enjoy their lordship until it chilled them into helplessness, and if need be, killed them. Whatever they did, they could not get away.
A wary, suspicious stillness fell below. And the cold, no question of it, was biting sharply, congealing into the deepest, darkest and deadliest of the night.
The young man eased from his braced listening, and turned to reach a long arm towards the boy. “Come close, let’s share what warmth we have. Come! In a while we may move, but now we’ll hold down the lid together over hell a little longer. While we consider what to do next.”
Yves wriggled thankfully along the ladder and was drawn warmly into the embracing arm. They settled together until they found mutual ease, and fitted snugly into one comforting mass. Yves drew breath deep into him, and leaned his cheek almost shyly into this admired and welcoming shoulder.
“You know me, sir,” he said hesitantly. “I do not know you.”
“You shall, Yves, you shall. I had no leisure until now to present myself respectfully to your lordship. To any but you, my friend, I am Robert, son to one of the foresters of Clee Forest. To you …” He turned his head to meet the boy’s round-eyed, earnest stare, and smiled. “To you I can freely be what I really am, if you can keep a blank face and a still tongue when needed. I am one of the newest and least of the esquires of your uncle, Laurence d’Angers, and my name is Olivier de Bretagne. My lord is waiting anxiously in Gloucester for news of you. I am sent to find you, and I have found you. And be sure, I will not now lose you again.”
Yves sat speechless, lost between bewilderment, joy and apprehension. “Truly? My uncle sent you to find us and take us to him? They did tell me in Bromfield that he was seeking us?my sister and me.” The thought of Ermina made him tremble and falter, for what was the use of being found while she remained lost? “She?my sister … She left us! I don’t know where she is!” It ended in a forlorn wisp of sound.
“Ah, but I have the better of you there, for I do know! Make your mind easy about Ermina. She is safe and well in the Bromfield you abandoned. True, believe me! Would I lie to you? I myself took her there to join you, only to find before ever we reached the gate that you were away again on a quest of your own.”
“I couldn’t help it, I had to go …”
It was almost too much to take in, so suddenly. Yves gulped down wonder and grew coherent. Now that he need no longer worry and grieve over Ermina’s fate, whatever the perils hanging over his own, he recoiled for support into resentment against her for ever bringing him and so many others to this pass. “You don’t knew her! She won’t be bidden,” he warned indignantly. “When she finds I’m gone she may do anything! It was she who caused all this, and if the fit takes her she’ll fly off again on some made folly. You don’t know her as I do!”
He thought it an innocent stranger’s over-confidence that Olivier laughed, however softly and amiably. “She’ll be bidden! Never fret, she’ll be waiting in Bromfield. But I think you have a story to tell me, before I tell mine. Heave it off your heart! You may, we had better not move from here yet. I hear someone stirring below.” Yves had heard nothing. “You left Worcester a fugitive, that I know, and how your sister left you, and why, that I know, too. She has told me, and made no secret of it. And if it please you to know the best, no, she is not married, nor like to be yet, but thinks herself well out of a foolish mistake. And now what of you, after her going?”
Yves nestled into the rough homespun shoulder, and poured out the whole of it, from his first wanderings in the forest to the remembered comfort and kindness of Father Leonard and Brother Cadfael at Bromfield, the tragedy of Sister Hilaria, and the desperate sally after poor, possessed Elyas.
“And I left him there, never thinking …” Yves shrank from remembering the words Brother Elyas had spoken, as they lay side by side in the night. That was something he could not share, even with this admirable being. “I’m afraid for him. But I did leave the door unbarred. Do you think they would find him? In good time?”
“In God’s time,” said Olivier positively, “which is always good. Your God cares for the sick in mind, and will see to it the lost are found,”
Yves was quick to note the strangeness of the chosen words. “My God?” he said, looking up with sharp curiosity into the dark face so close above his own.
“Oh, mine also, though I came to Christendom somewhat roundabout. My mother, Yves, was a Muslim woman of Syria, my father was a crusader of Robert of Normandy’s following, from this same England, and sailed for home again before ever I was born. I took his faith and went to join his people in Jerusalem as soon as I came a man. That’s where I found service with my lord your uncle, and when he returned here I came back with him. I am a Christian soul like you, though I chose it, where you were born to it. And I feel in my bones, Yves, that you will encounter your Brother Elyas again none the worse for the cold night you spent. We’d best be giving our minds rather to how you and I are to get safely out of here.”
