Stronghold

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"I saw great heaps of munitions, my lord. Nails, chains, piles of pebbles from the river shore. Ahhh…"

Squire Tallebois gasped as Zacharius inserted another suture through his ripped-open thigh, using a needle that looked like a fishhook. Having washed the filth off with buckets of water from the well, both the squire and Ranulf were now warming themselves at a brazier inside the main stable block. Earl Corotocus, Navarre, du Guesculin and several other senior household knights stood around them, listening to their report. Fiery shadows played on their attentive faces as Tallebois spoke.

Ranulf, who had pointedly said nothing so far, climbed tiredly into his mail leggings. He and Tallebois had managed to scramble out of the river on the east side of the castle, but only with great difficulty. Having met no more of the dead there, they'd needed to clamber back down into the moat and squeeze themselves along the drain. Thankfully, the earl's men had pulled them up the garderobe chute, but by this time they'd been completely exhausted and the last thing Ranulf had wanted was a face-to-face interrogation.

"They were restocking the scoop-thrower, as we feared," the squire jabbered, a vague light of madness in his eyes. "By cockcrow tomorrow, I fancy we'd have been facing the iron hail again. All over again! The iron-"

"But you destroyed the blasted machine?" Corotocus asked.

"Absolutely, my lord. It can't be used any more, ahhh…" Tallebois gasped again as a particularly gruesome gash was closed with a single tight thread. "But there is something else. They had also piled up colossal blocks of stone, which looked as if they'd been freshly quarried. The sort a mason might use to lay foundations with."

"And?"

The squire shrugged. "The dead don't build, my lord… do they? Captain Garbofasse thought they were projectiles. He said this meant they were bringing the mangonels to the western bluff. That'd they'd be ready either later today or maybe tomorrow."

Du Guesculin sucked in his breath. "My lord, the iron hail would merely sweep the Constable's Tower roof, but from that close range the mangonels will destroy it! We must retreat to the Keep at once."

Corotocus said nothing.

"My lord, do you hear me? We should fill the Keep basement with supplies-"

"We will retreat to the Keep, du Guesculin, as and when the situation demands it," the earl interjected.

"But my lord, great blocks of stone…?"

Ranulf buckled his hauberk in place, feeling even deeper scorn for the household banneret than he usually did. It was a pity du Guesculin hadn't been so frantic in his concerns when the south wall defenders had had to face these missiles.

Earl Corotocus now turned to Ranulf. "What's your opinion of this enterprise? Did it succeed?"

Ranulf shrugged. "I always said the mangonels would be brought against the west wall in due course, my lord."

"And the scoop-thrower? It's completely disabled?"

"I didn't see that. So I can't comment."

The earl's eyebrows arched. "You didn't see it? How can that be?"

"He wasn't with us," Tallebois piped up. "He went to find the countess."

"You… went to find the countess?" Corotocus repeated slowly, his eyes suddenly burning into Ranulf like smoking spear-points.

"To cut the head off the snake," Tallebois added. "That was what he said."

There was an amazed silence in the stable, broken only by the snuffling of horses and popping of coals in the brazier. Corotocus continued to gaze at Ranulf, a gaze the young knight returned boldly as he adjusted his coif. At last, Navarre stepped forward.

"You expect us to believe, FitzOsbern," he said, his voice a low, ultra-dangerous monotone, "that a man like you, a sentimental fool who'd take the code literally even to the point of his own death, would murder Countess Madalyn in her sleep?" Before Ranulf could reply, Navarre had thrown down his gauntlet. " This says differently!"

Resignedly, Ranulf collected his sword-belt from a corner, buckled it to his waist, and reached down for the gauntlet.

"Pick that glove up, Ranulf, and you cross swords with me as well," Earl Corotocus said.

"My lord!" Navarre protested.

"We are all of us engaged in a trial by battle!" the earl shouted. "Or hadn't you dogs noticed?" He rounded back on Ranulf. "But you, sir, have some questions to answer. You say you went to look for the countess?"

"The only way for us to survive this situation, my lord, is to parley with her," Ranulf tried to explain.

"And you took that duty on yourself?"

" You weren't there."

"You insolent…" Navarre snapped, but the earl raised a hand for silence.

"It wasn't my initial plan," Ranulf added. "But it seemed like a sensible idea at the time."

There was another prolonged silence. Earl Corotocus watched Ranulf very carefully. Thus far unscathed by the siege, the earl's smooth, handsome features were pale with anger, his blue eyes blazed — but, as always, he was in full control of his emotions.

"I take it you failed?" the earl finally said.

"Yes," Ranulf admitted, truthfully.

They continued to stare at each other intently, as if both parties were waiting for the other to give something away.

At last, the earl sniffed and said: "You and Tallebois get yourselves some food, and them some sleep. I want you back at your posts by dawn."

As Corotocus walked back towards the Constable's Tower, Navarre hurried across the courtyard to catch up with him.

"My lord, my lord… FitzOsbern is a traitor."

"I know."

"You should have let me kill him."

"And divide the company in two?"

"He won't have that much support."

"He has more than you think," Corotocus said. "He's ended the iron hail. He's the man who held the Gatehouse bridge, remember? He's the one who warned us that we might soon be facing our own dead. Even the household men were listening to that."

"Sire, you are Earl Corotocus of Clun, first baron of the realm. FitzOsbern is nobody. A former wolf-head, a rogue knight who-"

"The men are frightened, Navarre!" Corotocus snapped, stopping in his tracks. For a fleeting second, he too looked vaguely unnerved. "They are also tired. They don't share our desire to show King Edward that the Earldom of Clun can hold the Welsh at bay." He strode on. "Besides, I'm not convinced that in a straight duel you'd be able to kill him."

"He'd be the first one to beat me…"

"There's always a first one, you imbecile."

They mounted the ramp to the Constable's Tower. Ordinarily there'd be guards on its entrance, but now all available men were on the walls. Corotocus and Navarre's iron-shod feet echoed in the tight, switchback stairwell as they ascended to the battlements.

"In that case, arrest him while he's sleeping," Navarre said. "Bring charges, make it legal."

"Much as I'm loathe to admit it, we need his sword. We need everyone's sword." The earl halted again, thinking. "But from now on, Navarre, stay close to him."

"Of course."

"Watch his every move." Corotocus smiled coldly, as though anticipating a treat. "When the time is right, Ranulf FitzOsbern will learn what it means to defy my will."