April Munday (21 page)

Guy hesitated. They had grown close during the siege, but Richard knew that Guy still did not trust him. He did not hold that against him, in the same position he would have behaved in the same way. Guy now had the choice of going after Rosamunde himself and leaving Richard behind in a castle almost emptied of its garrison, from which he could escape, or letting Richard go after Rosamunde alone, once again risking his escape. If he had not been so worried about Rosamunde, Richard would have felt sorry for the younger man.

Richard reconsidered his plan one last time. He had to convince Guy to let him go; it was Rosamunde’s only chance of avoiding marriage to Sir Walter. 

“And if I give you a horse,” asked Guy, before Richard could speak again. “What is to stop you running away?”

“My word,” lied Richard, “I gave my word to the duke that I would protect Rosamunde.” But it wasn’t his word that would bring him back, he knew. He had realised that day as he watched for her return that, despite all his efforts, he loved Rosamunde and that was why he would go and take her from Sir Walter and that was why he would bring her back to the safety of her father’s castle. “If you still do not trust me, or if you think I will fail, gather your army but you will meet me on the way back … with Rosamunde.”

Guy put out his hand and Richard grasped his wrist.

“God speed,” said Guy. “I will follow with as many men as I can gather; you may need help. Take my horse,” he added. “It is the best in the stable.”

Richard left at a run.  Guy’s horse was indeed the best in the stable. Guy looked after it and spent time training it and grooming it. It was fast and Richard knew that it would be easier to control than any other horse available. Guy was right to be concerned about his chances of success. Even if Richard managed to get into the house and remove Rosamunde there was the chance that his leg would let him down and he would struggle to return. He did not have much time. It was half a day’s journey to Sir Walter’s manor even on a fast horse and it would be dark before he got there. He would have to find Rosamunde in a strange building and then remove her without being noticed and then ride back in the dark with her on a tired horse. She might even be injured and unable to ride. It was a terrible thought, but he forced himself to consider the possibility.

Now that he had acknowledged his love for Rosamunde to himself, he did not understand how he had been so blind to it for so long. She was the woman of virtue for whom he had been searching all this time. She was beautiful and clever and virtuous. He could want for nothing else, except perhaps the knowledge that she loved him, too. He would court her and win her heart and win her father over, for he knew he must marry her. Nothing else would do. Surely her father could not turn him down if he rescued her from Sir Walter. He was the son of a count, so there could be no problem with his rank. It would not matter that he had nothing; Rosamunde’s dowry would be sufficient. Neither of them had extravagant tastes. And if the war with France continued, he could fight on behalf of his new lord and gain prize money. Satisfied that he could win Rosamunde’s hand as well as her heart, he pressed on towards Sir Walter’s land, knowing he had to rescue her first.

He came to the house just after it finally became fully dark. It had been a difficult journey, despite the ease of following the tracks that Rosamunde’s attackers had left in the snow. At this time of year there was little activity outside and very few horses had crossed their path. His leg had started to pain him early into the journey, but he forced himself to ignore it: he would be of no use to Rosamunde if he gave in to the pain. Everything he had been told about the house seemed to be an understatement. It was more a small castle than a house, built of stone with extensive fortifications and a moat. It stood on top of a small hill. He knew that he had been right to come alone. The entire garrison from Corchester would take days to force their way into such a place once it was shut against them. It was well-guarded against such an attack, but Richard hoped that there would be a way for a single man to enter and leave without attracting attention.

The village was some distance from the manor house and the area around the house was open, so that it would be impossible for a large force to get close to the house unseen. It might be impossible for one man, but he had to try. His life had been forfeit since he had handed himself over to the duke, but he had never hoped so much to be able to hold on to it. A dead man could not save Rosamunde.

Richard left his horse in a clearing just inside the woods in front of the house. He had decided to swim the moat and enter through the gatehouse. He wanted to get Rosamunde out quickly, so would need to have the horse close at hand.

He crossed the space between the wood and the house slowly and quietly, crawling the last few yards on his belly. At least there was little snow here, so he was not as visible as he had feared. Once by the edge of the moat he carefully examined the bank on which he lay. It would not do to get Rosamunde into the moat only to discover that he could not get her out on the other side. Satisfied with his escape route, he eased himself into the water. He was a good swimmer and made little noise as he crossed the moat. Pulling himself up out of the water under the gatehouse was straightforward. Richard was surprised that the drawbridge was still down and the gate open. Sir Walter must surely expect that Guy would send a force out to rescue Rosamunde. Perhaps he had reasoned that they could not be there until the morning. But then it would be too late for Rosamunde. Richard had learned enough of English customs to know that if an unprotected woman spent one night under a man’s roof, regardless of whether anything happened or not, she was regarded as having been bedded by the man. He suspected that Sir Walter would take no chances. It would not be sufficient for people to assume he had bedded Rosamunde. A man who was prepared to lay siege to a strong castle for her would make sure there was no doubt that he had bedded her. And Richard was just as sure that Rosamunde would fight back. Even if she was not guided by her own virtuous nature, her father had said that she should not marry Sir Walter and as his obedient daughter she would have no choice but to defend herself from him. She was brave and she would be injured in the fight. For the first time he considered that he might be too late to save Rosamunde from that fate. What would that do to the love he now felt for her. To his surprise, it made no difference to him. He would still love her. Whatever Sir Walter did to her it would be against her will and he knew that she would fight. He smiled as he thought of Sir Walter’s surprise that not only was Lady Rosamunde able to withstand a siege to her father’s castle, but she would also fight him to the last possible moment. Richard’s heart warmed; he knew that she would fight. She would not give in. She was not Louise who had given in when everything had seemed to be against her. Rosamunde would fight to the death to avoid being raped by Sir Walter. The thought sobered him and reminded him that only speed would save her.

There were two guards in the gatehouse and Richard killed them both, silently and quickly, hoping that the routine here was the same as that at Corchester, where the guards changed late in the evening. He needed as much time as possible inside the house before the guards were found. Although it took precious time, he decided to throw their bodies into the moat. The alarm was less likely to be raised because the guards were not at their post. He had seen enough of the lack of discipline in Sir Walter’s men during the siege to know that that must be a common occurrence. If anyone found the bodies, the alarm would be sounded immediately.

Once he had disposed of the bodies, he slipped inside the gateway. He was now inside the courtyard. It was smaller than he had expected. At the duke’s castle, this would be the most dangerous place. People were always crossing it on their way to somewhere. Then he reminded himself; it was doubtful that anyone would have managed to get inside the castle gatehouse alive. The duke’s guards were much more alert than Sir Walter’s, even now.

He took a deep breath. Most people would be in the hall. It was dark and cold and either just before the evening meal or just after it. Few people would venture away from the fire in the hall unless they had to. He knew he could not rely too much on the routine being kept to, since Rosamunde’s capture would have changed that routine. 

He hoped that she wasn’t suffering too much. She would be scared, he knew. She would expect Guy to come for her, but she must know that he would not be able to arrive with a force of men before tomorrow, when it would be too late. No, he could not allow himself to be distracted. He could not think of what Rosamunde was going through, only how to find her and get her out, even if that meant that she must go into a convent rather than marry him.

He crept around the courtyard, keeping away from windows and moving quickly past doors. The need to save Rosamunde urged him to speed, but the knowledge that he could not help her if he was caught tempered that desire. Eventually he found a quiet, unwatched door and entered the house. There had been no one in the courtyard. Nonetheless, Richard stayed on his guard, with his knife in his hand. Sir Walter’s people were lax, but he would not depend on it. They might not be expecting anyone to attempt a rescue until tomorrow, but the closer he got to Rosamunde, the more likely he was to find those who were prepared and able to fight him.

He came across some stairs and climbed them. Doubtless Sir Walter would be in his bedchamber, exulting over his prize.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he heard Rosamunde’s screams. She sounded hoarse as if she had not stopped screaming since Sir Walter’s men attacked her. He controlled his impulse to rush blindly along the hallway and kill whoever he might find there and pressed himself against the side of the stairwell. He lowered himself to his knees with difficulty and looked into the passageway. Two men were standing outside a closed door talking quietly. Occasionally, when Rosamunde gave a particularly heartrending scream, they looked uneasily at the door. They were probably the witnesses that Sir Walter would need to prove that Rosamunde had been under his roof for a night.  Richard noticed that both men were armed. It seemed Sir Walter wasn’t taking his safety completely for granted.

Richard banged loudly on the wall and ducked down back into the stairwell.

“Robert, is that you?” called one of the men.

Richard banged the wall again.

“Robert, hurry up,” called the same man. “The lady’s screams have given me an appetite for my wife.”

Both men laughed. Richard snarled under his breath and banged the wall again, more urgently. The two men looked at one another. The man who had spoken drew his sword and advanced cautiously along the passageway. When he turned the corner to where Richard was hiding, Richard plunged his knife into him and he fell without making a sound.  Removing the man’s cloak he flung it across his own shoulders, pulling the hood over his head to hide his face as much as possible. He then advanced quickly up the passage towards the other man, keeping in the shadows.

“What was it?” asked the other man as he started to sheath his sword.

“Nothing,” said Richard, but his accent gave him away and the other man pulled his sword out again. Cursing under his breath, Richard threw off the cloak and drew his own sword, running down the passage. The other man tried to parry Richard’s blow, but was unsuccessful. Obviously Sir Walter did not enforce the same practice régime as the duke did on his men. Richard despatched him easily and threw open the door to Sir Walter’s bedchamber. He knew he had very little time now; Robert was probably coming to relieve at least one of the men very soon.

There were few candles in Sir Walter’s bedchamber, but there was light enough for Richard to see Rosamunde in nothing but her shift pinned to the bed by Sir Walter, who was naked.  Even in that light he could see that she was badly bruised and there was blood on her face as if she had been struck many times. Her shift had been ripped and pulled away from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. He was too late to save Rosamunde from the humiliation of being bedded by Sir Walter, but at least she would not have to have him as her husband. Rosamunde noticed him, but she was still quick-witted enough to give no warning to Sir Walter. She continued to struggle and scream and Sir Walter raised an arm to strike her again. Richard caught his arm and he pulled Sir Walter from the bed. Sir Walter was surprised and tried to call out, but Rosamunde kept up her screams and covered any noise that he made. Richard stepped back from him, in order to give his sword arm room to move and plunged his sword into Sir Walter’s heart. And Sir Walter died, surprised that he had been defeated by the French lackwit.

Rosamunde was sitting up on the bed, staring at him. At his signal, she stopped screaming. She made no move to cover herself. Her shift had been pulled up to her thighs and he saw that her shoulders and legs were as bruised as her face and arms.

“We must leave, now,” he urged quietly. There would be time later to tend to her wounds.

“My clothes…” she muttered. He looked around the room briefly. Her clothes lay in rags strewn across the floor. She had not made it easy for Sir Walter to undress her, but her body showed the price she had paid for her efforts.

“There is no time. There is a cloak in the passage that you can take.” He had expected further protest. A lesser woman would not have understood the seriousness of the situation, but Rosamunde simply stretched out her hand to him and he helped her from the bed. He pulled up the sleeves of her shift, careful not to touch her bruised flesh and did up the tie at her throat. Although her shift was badly torn, it would cover her for now. Her safety mattered more than her modesty. He crossed quickly to the door and looked out into the passage. There was no movement or sound. Rosamunde had followed him and they stepped out of the bedchamber. Once in the passage he retrieved the cloak and Rosamunde wrapped it round herself. She had started to shiver and he feared the damage the long journey home in the snow would do to her.