Lady of Fire (12 page)

Finally he received the word he had been waiting for, and he ordered the pitch vats heated. Fuld watched from his walls with new confidence. Both men had received the same reports—Robert of Belesme was on the move and lay with his army less than three miles away. When Fuld received the count at some four hundred men, he was disappointed. The Bastard lay below with nearly twice that number. But Belesme was Belesme—he never lost—and Fuld did not expect him to do so now.

Fuld spent most of his daylight hours on the wall, watching and waiting for the moment when Roger FitzGilbert became aware that Belesme lay behind him. Fuld's messenger slipped out to Robert's camp, but never came back. Finally, on July 2, new and frenzied activity could be noted in the encampment below. Standards of Roger's vassals were raised to wave in the summer breeze, and men put on their emblazoned surcoats to identify their houses. A raft was put to on the river and a party floated across. Beneath him, Fuld could see a bareheaded Robert of Belesme step ashore, unmistakable with that black hair and green surcoat. The blond-headed Bastard moved to greet him, and together they walked up the bank to Roger's tent, followed by several lords from both parties. That they did not exchange the customary kiss of peace was small comfort to Fuld Nevers.

Inside his tent, Roger faced the man he hated most in the world. Even for the sake of Eleanor's release, it was difficult to treat with Robert of Belesme, and he knew the count felt much the same way about him. But they each had something to lend to the operation that was invaluable to the other—Roger had men, while most of Robert's levies were still occupied fighting Curthose's war in the Vexin; Robert, on the other hand, had the reputation that struck dread in men's souls. And both wanted Eleanor safely out of Fuld's hands. Roger hoped against hope that a siege would prove unnecessary—that somehow Robert's appearance would strike enough fear in Fuld's weak mind that he would release her. Robert dashed any such hopes.

"Nay," he replied to the suggestion, "he will fight to the death now. He knows what I will do to him." His green eyes glittered in anticipation, and his sensuous mouth curved into his strange half-smile. "And so I will."

"I would have my sister safe," Roger reminded him grimly.

"Think you I want her dead?" Robert demanded harshly. "Dead bones make a poor wife. Nay, I would have her whole, also."

"Then what's to be done? He'll kill her before he's killed." Roger ran his fingers through his blond hair in distraction. "Is there no way?"

"Complete war. We cannot breach the walls—they are too thick—but we can rain fire over them and we can cut out all supplies. If we are fortunate and fire the granaries and the stables, we can cut their will to resist."

"And burn Lea in her bed. Nay, my lord, 'tis too risky."

Belesme eyed him with disgust. "If I had not seen you in battle, FitzGilbert, I should think you your father's son. War is no May game to be played on the hillside." He walked outside the tent and picked up a stick. "Here." He drew a large oval that flattened out on one side in the dirt. Inside it, he traced the outline of Fuld's castle, and then he drew circles for the three main towers. "Fuld's apartments are here." He made a large cross over the tower as he pointed to it. "The granaries are about as far away as they can be within the walls. The stables are here." He stood up and moved back to give Roger a clearer view. "Because of her value to him, I would expect Fuld to keep Eleanor near him."

"In his tower?"

Belesme nodded. "As yet, the other towers are largely unfinished. Fuld's father started building the structure the same year the Conqueror sailed for England. He knew what he was doing and laid the groundworks for a formidable fortress." Belesme dropped the stick and brushed his hands against his green tunic. "Alas, Fuld lacked the brains to finish it. He has a stone curtain and stone towers—and that is all."

Roger turned his eyes toward Fuld's walls. "It looks like enough."

"It may be, FitzGilbert, but I think it can be taken. Every fortress has a weakness. For some it is a flaw in the structure. For others, it is a flaw in the men behind the walls."

"Fuld."

"Aye."

"What if he kills her?"

"If she is dead, no man comes out of there alive. But I expect he will first decide to fight in defiance. If we can destroy much of his food, he will try to treat with you, FitzGilbert. He is not fool enough to expect to treat with me. When that happens, we can decide what to do." Robert of Belesme turned his green eyes toward the siege machines. "You have placed them well for not knowing your target. And I see you already have plans to dry out his ditch. Small work for so many men, though. I propose we loose our forces on the countryside to keep them busy."

"Nay." Roger stared levelly at Belesme. "I did not bring my men to burn and rape, my lord."

Belesme shrugged. "Then keep them in line however you will. My men are used to taking what lies in their path." Abruptly he changed the subject. "Can your pitch vats be ready by morning? I am for raining fire as soon as we can."

"Aye. My men will wrap the torches tonight."

"FitzGilbert…"

Roger met the strange green eyes. "What?"

"Fuld is mine to take. If he survives to the end, he is mine to kill."

A chill descended down Roger's spine. Belesme's meaning was clear—he would torture Fuld Nevers slowly to death. Roger took a deep breath before answering. "Aye."

"He is forsworn."

"You owe me no explanation, my lord. My only concern is that Eleanor of Nantes comes out of there alive."

"Aye." Belesme frowned. "It may be difficult to recognize your sister at first, FitzGilbert. Fuld has a heavy hand."

Roger felt sick—Belesme was putting into words what he dared not even think. He nodded. "Then I cannot promise you Fuld."

"Aye—you can"—Robert spoke softly—"for I know better than you the limits of life. He'll pay for each and every mark he has put on her."

The acrid smell of smoke and burning flesh assailed her nose and irritated her eyes as Eleanor awoke to more cries of "Tend the buckets!" It was apparent that yet another pitch torch had found its mark within Fuld's walls. His boasts of the invincibility of stone might prove right, but Roger and Belesme were taking a heavy toll of thatched roofs and livestock within the stronghold. Rock and pitch rained down day and night with devastating results. Eleanor herself had formed part of the human chain that had labored in vain to save the stables and the frightened animals inside. The memory of their stamping and whinnying came flooding back to her as she opened her eyes and recollected her surroundings.

Sitting up and rubbing smoke-reddened eyes with a sooty hand, she groped for the water pitcher by her cot. Her hand stopped in mid-reach—there was no water for washing now. Ruefully she pulled a corner of dirty sheet up and rubbed at her face. She winced as she did so—Fuld's hands had left many bruises. Ah, if those who had acclaimed her beautiful could but see her now. If Robert of Belesme faced her like this, would he still want to wed with her? And what of Roger? Nay, he would still love her—Roger was always Roger. She just hoped he would get the chance to avenge all her hurts and all the insults she'd borne.

Wearily she dragged herself to an arrow slit that served for her window and peered to the courtyard below to see what new damage had been done. Across the way, the few timbers that remained of the stable still smoldered. And in the distance, between inner bailey and curtain wall, the granaries flared orange in the morning light. One of Fuld's men looked up and spat when he saw her. Most of them now barely concealed their hatred of her, too often blaming their predicament on "that witch of Nantes" rather than on their lord. Beside him, men labored to pile rubble and charred carcasses into a central mound from whence carts could be loaded and the bodies of men and animals could be moved outside the bailey wall for burial. Eleanor turned away from the sight and the smell.

So intent had she been on the scene below her that she failed to hear Fuld come into the room behind her. His ugly face was even more repulsive with its red eyes and soot-streaked cheeks.

"What do you want?" she asked tiredly.

"You are to get me safe passage out of here."

She almost laughed. "Had I the means, my lord, I should have been gone myself." She indicated the window slit. "My brother's pitch finds its way closer and closer."

"Aye," Fuld agreed grimly, "and I won't be here to be fried in my bed or to starve."

"I thought this place invincible."

"It is—the walls will stand." He grabbed her hair and pulled her back to the window. "Look down, fool, and see what the Bastard and Belesme have done to the livestock. In two days' time and in this heat, all that will be rotting—then what will happen?" Without waiting for her answer, he flung her savagely away from him. She had to catch herself against the uneven rocks of the wall. "Well, Fuld won't be here to suffer—you buy my way to safety. Aye, you write to the Bastard and tell him I am willing to treat for a safe conduct. If he can hold Belesme until I am away, I will release you at Dieppe."

"I don't believe you!"

Fuld's open hand struck her across the mouth. "Fool! I care not what you believe! It only matters that the FitzGilbert believe it!" he exploded. "Now, you will write—else your head joins the others on the pikes."

Fuld Nevers' messenger rode out under flag of truce to deliver Eleanor's letter. Roger had him detained while he sent for Belesme. While he was waiting for the count to come, he reread it several times, trying to decide if it were a trick. The tent flap parted, and Robert of Belesme ducked his head to gain admittance. Roger handed him the letter.

Belesme took his time before commenting, "It could be a ruse, but I doubt Fuld has the intelligence to think up something like this. The Demoiselle—is she able to understand what she asks?"

"She is no fool. I trust Lea as much as I trust any man."

"She is a woman."

"Mabille is a woman," Roger retorted, "and you have left her in command of Belesme often enough."

"Leave Mabille out of this!" Belesme responded with such a flash of anger that they were both taken aback. Finally Robert took a deep breath and nodded. "All right, FitzGilbert, we go in if you believe what she writes, but I warn you—I have no wish to die at Fuld's hands. If this is a trick, I will have my sword at your back."

"Isn't that its usual place?" Roger shot back sarcastically.

Belesme's green eyes flashed momentarily. "Bastard, there is little liking between us, but soon we are to be joined by a bond of blood. If I can stomach Gilbert, I can stomach anything. And you are cut from far different cloth than he is."

Roger relaxed slightly. "Then you want to go in with me?"

"Aye, I know the place—and Fuld is mine." Belesme moved to the center of the tent, where he could better stand straight. Flexing his shoulders by clasping his hands behind him and stretching, he offered his own plans.

"When we clear the garderobe, we are one level below Fuld's quarters. We'll have to get up the stairs and into his chamber before he realizes we are in."

"What if she isn't there?"

"She'll be where Fuld is. If they aren't in his quarters, she'll be dead before we can find her."

Roger crossed himself and murmured a quick prayer for her safety. Belesme eyed him with disgust. "Trust your sword, FitzGilbert—'twill serve you better."

Roger's mouth was dry, his stomach heavy. "If she is safe, it will be enough for me."

"When do you want to go in?"

"Tonight."

Belesme nodded. "I'll give orders to break camp and pull back immediately. Then, under cover of darkness, I'll ride back in and we'll look for the old ditch."

"All right."

Belesme moved toward the flap. "If we are successful, FitzGilbert, you will need to take the Demoiselle and press on to Rouen before I deal with Fuld. I doubt either of you has the stomach for it."

Once he saw that Belesme's troops were pulling back to higher ground, Fuld's spirits improved. Impulsively he ordered that any salvageable meat be served at his supper table along with whatever else his cooks could provide. Feeling his escape imminent, he ate and drank liberally. Behind him, Eleanor kept his cup refilled with its sour wine until at last he lurched from his chair and made his way to his bed.

Eleanor retired when Fuld and Blanche did. For a long time she lay listening to the sounds of the castle as it settled down for the night. She could hear Fuld's clumsy attempts at lovemaking, and Blanche's guttural moans as the ropes of the bed creaked and strained. Fuld heaved and grunted until he found release, and then all was quiet. Eleanor shuddered in disgust and wondered if all men sounded like that. Somehow, she couldn't imagine either Roger or Robert of Belesme making such noises.

She rose and crept back to the arrow slit, peering anxiously into the darkness for some sign of activity. Fires flickered in the distance, but she could detect no movement. Had Roger received her letter? And would he trust what she said? She fervently prayed he would, for she had no wish to flee in the company of Fuld Nevers. Finally she slipped back into her bed and waited.

In spite of her best efforts to remain awake, she found her eyes growing heavy. Even thoughts of Roger could not hold her attention while her weary body demanded rest.

She could not hazard a guess as to how long she slept before she woke to the sounds of scraping on the stairs and of sleepy men groping for their arms. She came fully awake when Fuld loomed across the opening to her tiny cut-out chamber. He was barefoot, and He'd managed to pull on mail over his bare skin, and he held his sword in his hand. She knew terror—there could be no escape past him. For one awful minute she could envision her head over his gate.

"Lying witch!" he snarled. "Your brother betrays me!" He lurched toward her in semidarkness. "Well, when I go down, you go with me!"

Eleanor rolled out of her cot to the opposite side and ducked away from him, her only thought for the door behind him. Her eyes never left his hideous face as he advanced toward her, until she judged it safe to move. Torchlights appeared behind him, illuminating his outline against the doorway. He reached for her like a bear making a swipe with a great paw.