SirenSong (35 page)

Chapter Eighteen

When Raymond arrived at the dock, he dismounted and listened
to the reports of the men-at-arms stationed there. Sir William had been right,
traffic had been much lower in the morning. However there was already a ship
coming from downriver. Raymond went back to the shed he had commandeered as a
headquarters so that he would be out of the rain, which had been spattering
about on and off all day, and sat down to wait until the vessel came in. His
mind drifted back to a pleasant contemplation of his forthcoming betrothal.

The thoughts were interrupted by the docking, by the now
familiar arguments of the merchant and the men-at-arms who went to inspect the
cargo. Some yielded readily, some required the authority of Raymond’s manner,
his gold-decked sword, before they would permit an examination of their goods.
This was a particularly stubborn case, the merchant protesting that he had been
robbed in the past with just such an excuse and ordering his crew to cast off
the lines that held them to the dock. It took Raymond some time to calm him. In
the end, he had to promise to stand by and oversee the entire operation
himself.

The boat was well laden. As about half the cargo was for
Marlowe and it had to be separated from what was to remain, several hours
passed before Raymond’s count was complete. He was soaked to the skin by the
time he got back to the shed. Although it was not time for sunset, the clouds
were so heavy that it was almost dark. Raymond called out to one of the
men-at-arms to obtain a dry cloak for him. Before that man returned, he had to
call another and ask for torches or a lamp. The clouds were more and more
threatening of a real downpour to follow the off-and-on drizzle that had
plagued them all week. Finally his cloak arrived.

The man who had gone for the torches had not yet returned.
Despite the cloak, Raymond shivered again and wondered whether it was
worthwhile waiting any longer. Dark as it was, most boats would do as the one
that had just come in and tie up wherever they could. With the wind high, there
was a danger of running into low water. The channel of the river was easy
enough to follow in daylight, wind or no wind, but the curving course made
travel in the dark dangerous. Once more Raymond walked to the edge of the shed
to examine the sky. As he did so, a shadow slipped around the end nearest him.

“My lord, my master would wish to speak with you—in
private.”

The whisper was coarse, a broken French. The man’s face was
a pale glimmer in the dim light. All Raymond could really make out was that he
smelled worse than the men-at-arms, wore a short tunic and baggy chausses bound
with ill-tied cross garters. But he did speak some French, which implied that
his master spoke it better. Almost certainly, then, his master was a merchant.
No one else in Marlowe would need to speak French. In the dark, Raymond smiled.
It looked as if his investigation had shaken up the merchant community.
Probably one of them had become nervous enough to try to get into Sir William’s
good graces.

“Very well.” Raymond looked toward his horse at the other
end of the shed, but the man plucked his sleeve.

“It is not far, lord. Do not call your men or ride. My
master will be in deep trouble if it becomes known that he spoke to you.”

Better and better, Raymond thought. From what the man hinted
it was likely his master was prepared to confess the other merchants’ sins as
well as his own. Concealing his eagerness, Raymond nodded curtly. He wondered whether
he should tell the nearest man-at-arms that he would be gone for a while, but
the merchant’s servant was already sidling away around the side of the shed.

Raymond hurried out, relieved to find the man just at the
end of the shed. He started ahead as soon as he saw Raymond and kept far enough
in advance that the young knight’s whole attention was given to keeping him in
sight, a task made no easier by the dark, intensified as it was in the narrow
twisting alleys they threaded.

Raymond was a brave man and his courage was bolstered by the
unconscious arrogance that assured him no common churl would dare attack a
nobleman. Nonetheless, he was somewhat surprised at the area into which he was
being led. It was reasonable that a merchant about to betray his fellow
guildsmen would avoid his own house and his usual haunts, but it was not at all
likely he would choose to meet his overlord’s agent in a sty a pig would scorn.
Perhaps the person who wished to speak to him was not a merchant. One of the
criminals who haunted every waterfront might have information he believed would
buy him a pardon for his crimes and a little silver.

Although he still did not fear for himself, Raymond loosened
his sword in its scabbard. The guide stopped at the door of the most miserable
inn Raymond had ever seen and waved him forward. Raymond shook his head firmly.
He did not want to give the man a chance to disappear before he was questioned.
It was the man’s slight hesitation that warned Raymond all was not as it
seemed. There should have been no difference which one of them preceded the
other. The next move was even more peculiar. The man knocked on the door and
said, “Egbert, it is Rolf,” as he entered. One did not knock on inn doors nor
announce oneself, particularly if the “guest” you were bringing was supposed to
be a secret.

At that point, Raymond should have turned and run. Already
his brain was shrieking,
trap
. His pride, his training and tradition,
betrayed his good sense. A knight does not flee from trouble before he even finds
it. A nobleman does not flee from a gaggle of churls. As the door opened to
admit the guide, Raymond launched himself forward, pushing the man ahead of him
so hard that he fell, and leaping over him. The suddenness of what he had done
saved him from being dispatched by a violent blow from a man who had been
waiting beside the door.

That assassin leapt forward, as did half a dozen others,
expecting that Raymond would continue his rush or that he would stand at bay.
Instead, he turned and ran back, twisting aside just enough to avoid the man
coming toward him. Foolhardily brave Raymond might be, but he was not suicidal.
The inn was dim, lit only by a few rushlights, but Raymond’s eyes were adjusted
to the dark already, and he had seen the other men coming forward and seen the
long gleam of swords. Had he worn armor, he might have been tempted to fight.
Without protection for his body or a friend to defend his back, he was too
vulnerable.

He had intended to go out of the door as fast as he came in.
Unfortunately, the twist that permitted him to avoid the man who had run at him
from beside the door also carried him out of the direct line of the opening. In
addition another man, who had been on the other side of the doorway, slammed
the door shut before he, too, ran forward to attack.

Although he did not succeed in escaping, Raymond’s swift
action did take his attackers by surprise. The man he had so narrowly avoided
jerked aside instinctively and, a second later—a second too late—thrust at
Raymond. This caused him to bump into another man, who was rushing toward where
Raymond had been, and to strike the sword of a third man. In general, as they
converged on the spot Raymond had so swiftly vacated, all the men became
entangled to a degree.

Their confusion did not last long. They were used to dealing
with frantic efforts to escape, but the second or two necessary for
reorganizing themselves gave Raymond time to draw his sword. This caused
another brief hesitation. Most of the victims this scum of thieves and deserters
dealt with were either paralyzed with fright at being trapped or unaccustomed
to defending themselves. The second delay also worked to Raymond’s advantage.
He was able to swing his cloak off his shoulders, where it had hampered his
movements, and whirl it around his left arm to use as a shield.

He was just in time. Two men sprang forward simultaneously.
Raymond beat off one blow with his sword and tangled the tip of the other
weapon in the trailing edge of his cloak. His counterstroke was aimed at the man
whose sword was caught in the cloth, and he grinned wolfishly as a shriek
followed his thrust. In general, Raymond did not use the point of his weapon
much. In this situation, however, he was as eager to keep the attackers at a
distance as he was to harm them, Thus he drew the sword back only enough to
free it and then slashed sideways as he bent his knees to dodge a slash from
the other man.

This move too was successful. Raymond’s sword connected
again, drawing another shriek, but neither attacker fell, and the strength with
which their curses were uttered implied they were more surprised than hurt by
Raymond’s defense. He did not have time to be discouraged by such thoughts. The
other men were pressing forward, slashing and thrusting.

It was immediately apparent to Raymond that none of the men
was his equal in ability. It was also immediately apparent that his greatest
danger was that he would soon be hemmed in so closely he would be overpowered
by numbers and the inability to swing his own sword. The only counter he could
make was to slash around him in a wide arc as hard as he could. He coupled this
with snapping his cloak violently in the faces of the men to his left.

The action was partially successful. Raymond’s blade made
sharp contact with another, obviously of much poorer quality steel, which
snapped. The cloak caused another man to jerk backward, catch his foot in an
unevenness in the floor, and stagger sideways. The move was also dangerous. The
spread of Raymond’s arms bared his breast and throat. Two men, both immediately
in front of him, thrust eagerly at the targets offered. Raymond jerked aside.
The sword aimed at his throat missed. The other, directed at the broader target
of his chest, struck the inner side of his left arm.

Because Raymond was moving in the same direction as the
slash, its force was lessened. In the heat of the fighting, he hardly realized
he had been wounded. He was more worried by his dodging, which moved him away
from the door, than by the pain. Desperately he swung again and again, wildly,
not aiming at any man or weapon, only striving to clear a space around himself.
Made cautious by his violence, the four remaining attackers drew back a trifle.
Raymond did not delude himself that he had cowed them. Obviously they were preparing
to rush him all at once.

Mauger had had a lively night. He had not removed Elizabeth
from the bed when he came up, ostensibly to watch by her through the night. He
had felt a violent excitement when he saw her lying there bound and had
fingered her body experimentally. The effect, however, had been disappointing.
Elizabeth did not try to scream behind her gag or fling herself from side to
side. She only opened her eyes, stared at him for a moment with blank
indifference, and closed her eyes again.

Although he stopped handling her, Mauger was not entirely
convinced by Elizabeth’s apparent lack of reaction. Three factors made him let
her alone. The first and most important was that he did not trust her. He
remembered the swift stroke that had sent the “physician” careening across the
room. In order to couple with Elizabeth, he would need to untie her legs. That
would be asking for trouble, for a man is never more vulnerable to hurt than
when his shaft is engorged.

The second factor reinforced the first. Mauger really did
not find Elizabeth in the least attractive. He wished to soil her, to reject
her. That made the third factor clear. His pleasure had come largely from
displaying that he did not think her worth coupling—that he did not think her
important enough, human enough, to need privacy from her when he performed the
most private of all acts. Thus, he took Emma into Elizabeth’s bed and, with her
beside him, made love to his mistress. He found it remarkably stimulating.
There was an additional pleasure in sleeping between the two women, an equal
warmth on both sides.

Naturally, neither of Mauger’s bed partners felt the same
satisfaction. Emma had obeyed him in terrified, sickened silence, her helpless
hatred growing greater and more bitter. Elizabeth, despite Mauger’s belief that
she was pretending, had truly been indifferent. She had reached the stage of
despair in which nothing that happened to her had any meaning.

It was quite late in the morning before Mauger woke. He had
Emma dress him and stuck his head out of the door to order that bread and
cheese and wine, and broth for the invalid, a quick afterthought, be sent up.
He made Emma attend to Elizabeth’s physical needs and then eat the broth in
front of her, but did not get the satisfaction he expected, even when he forced
Emma to suck the liquid loudly from the spoon. Elizabeth never opened her eyes,
and when he struck her and demanded that she do so, her gaze was blanker than
any idiot’s, showing no interest or desire. It was annoying, but Mauger told
himself that she would not be able to control herself much longer. She simply
was not hungry or thirsty enough yet.

That irritation sent Mauger down to inquire whether Egbert
had left the keep. The information that he had done so soon after dawn was
satisfactory but increased Mauger’s discomfort. A glance at the sky was no
help. The heavy clouds prevented him from judging the time. He went up to
Elizabeth’s chamber again and attempted to assuage his impatience to hear that
Raymond had been killed by tormenting the women. This expedient was not
particularly successful. Elizabeth remained limp. She did wince a trifle when
he pinched her and pricked her with a knife, but he did not dare really mark
her. Once she was dead, he would have to permit her women to wash her and lay
her out. If there were marks of violence on her body, all his effort at making
her death seem natural would be wasted.

There was little amusement to be obtained from threatening
Emma with mistreatment. She was so exhausted by terror and weeping that she
simply fainted. Mauger did not bother to revive her but stamped out of
Elizabeth’s room in disgust. He could not read and took no interest in the
running of the estate, so he could not busy himself with those matters. Moment
by moment his impatience grew to hear that the attack on Raymond had been
successful. He willed Egbert to return from the town with the news he wanted to
hear.