Knight's Rebellion. Suzanne Barclay
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tucked the rough blanket under Dickie’s chin and sighed. He looked so still and fragile.
“You’ve done all you can for him, Sister,” Bette said.
“Pray God it was enough.” Alys stood, arching her back against the ache put there by hours of bending over her patients.
“Ach, you’re that done in, up most of the night. Let me show you to your bed,” Bette said. “Bab, that’s my oldest girl—” she nodded in the direction of a capable young woman sitting beside Martin’s pallet “—she and Dame Dotty will watch the lads. If only there was some way we could show our gratitude,” she went on. “But our caves are short on comfort, I fear. Still, you’ll have a chamber to yourself with a brazier to warm it.”
“Thank you.” Alys smiled at the woman who’d stayed by her through it all. Primitive the caves certainly were, but the womenfolk who’d helped her tend the wounded had been unbelievably kind and compassionate. Not at all the rough criminal lot she’d expected. Their clothes were worn, their supplies limited, but their capacity for giving had surprised her.
“Come, I’ll show you the way. These tunnels are so vast and winding even I sometimes get lost.” Bette shoved aside the blanket that served to cover this chamber’s doorway.
Numb with fatigue, Alys ducked under it and into a gloomy corridor, lit only by a single torch. The rough stone seemed to ooze damp chill. Shivering, she chafed at her arms. “What I’d really like is a hot bath.”
Bette brightened. “That we can supply.”
“Really?” Alys glanced down the dank hall. It stank of smoke and past meals and too many people living close together.
“Hot springs within the mountain. Gowain discovered it shortly after he joined us. ‘Twas he decided ‘twould make a good place for us to wash clothes and such. He and Darcy like to soak in them,” she added as she lit a torch from the one on the wall and started down the hall. “Me, I’m not much for such things.” Light flickered as she shivered.
“The others must share your opinion,” Alys said dryly.
Bette chuckled. “It does smell a bit ripe when you come in from the outside, but after a bit, the nose gets used to it.” She tromped on in silence through the complicated maze of tunnels.
“Do you know what time it is?” Alys asked.
“Near midnight, I should guess. Without the sun, it’s hard to gauge. We’ve a sand clock in the great hall. Bertram, that’s my. husband, he’s in charge of turning it. He was headman in Eastham village before Ranulf took over and put in his own man.”
“Is that why you came here? Because he lost his post?”
Bette paused, her round face creased with pain. “’Twas more than that. Osbert—that was the new bailiff—he took all we had. Our cottage, our garden plot, even our animals and household things.” She shook her head, eyes watering. “When I think of that man eating his swill out of me mam’s best bowls…”
“Couldn’t you protest to the manor court?”
“Lord Ranulf is judge and jury there, Sister, and ‘twas by his leave that Osbert ran us off.”
“That is monstrous!” Alys exclaimed.
“Aye.” Bette gave her a watery smile. “But worse than that was done to other folk, so I can’t complain overly. Come, you’ll catch a chill standing here listening to me blat on.”
Alys followed, her mind in turmoil. True, it was no crime for a lord to deal with his people as Ranulf had Bette and Bertram, but a Sommerville would never condone such callous, heartless behavior. Her parents had taught her an overlord owed his people protection, justice and honesty.
“Mind how you go,” Bette said as they mounted a set of stone steps. “This here’s a natural bridge.” She started across, holding the torch higher. Its pale wash revealed a steep drop on either side of the span, into a seemingly endless pit so dark it swallowed the light.
“Oh, my.” Alys hung back.
“Don’t worry. It’s strong and sturdy. Gowain made sure of that before he allowed any of the rest of us to use it.”
Alys gingerly crossed the bridge, certain to stay in the center. “How can decent people like yourself stay with a murderous rebel like Gowain?”
At the other side, Bette turned and waited for her. “Gowain’s no brigand. Leastwise, not like you mean. Oh, he’s done his share of fighting, but in a just cause. If not for him, the rest of us would surely have starved to death, or been caught by Ranulf’s men and butchered like the others.”
“What others?”
“The ones who stayed in Eastham village…the farmers who resisted when Ranulf ordered them from their land or tried to take their children away.”
“What would he want with farmers’ children?”
“To serve at the castle, he said, but the maidens were made to entertain his guests, and the lads were never seen again.”
“Dear God.” Alys shivered, and not from the cold.
“Just so. Bertram and I fled in the night with our young ones, taking only the clothes we wore. Others did the same, Letice Cardon, the brewmistress, Percy Baker—who’s wed to my Bab—Henry and Ralph Denys, Velma, Maye and her wee Johnny.” Bette shook her head. “Each one has a sad tale to tell, but—” she straightened her shoulders “—we’ve survived. Thanks to Gowain.”
“Hmm,” Alys said noncommittally, not ready to elevate a ruthless brigand to sainthood. Mayhap he needed an army to fight his battles and saw a way to gain one by helping these people.
“Here we are.” Bette ducked through an archway, then stood, torch aloft. Light glinted off the vaulted stone ceiling, danced on the dark surface of the bubbling water below it. The warm air smelled damply of sulfur and other minerals. “The water’s deep at the far end, but shallow over here.” She led the way down a narrow, boulder-littered path along the water. “We beat our clothes upon these flat stones, and rinse them in this pool. I’m told it’s the best for bathing, too, for there are rocks below the surface where one may sit without drowning.”
“I can swim,” Alys said, though at the moment she doubted she had the strength to paddle far. “Are there soap and towels?”
“Aye.” A ledge had been turned into a storeroom, with bowls of soap and lengths of linen toweling. “Help yourself to what you need. I’ll give you a bit of privacy while I go and make certain the brazier in your chamber is filled with coals, then I’ll return to show you the way back. Can I bring you anything from your saddle pack?”
If only she had her chests of clothes. All she had in that saddle was a fresh chemise, gloves and her precious herb books. “Thank you, no. I’ll put this robe back on when I’ve washed and sort through my things when I get back to my room.”
The moment Bette left, Alys ducked behind a large rock and shed her clothes. The boots came first. She wriggled her aching toes, and set the woolen hose aside for washing. It was a relief to remove the soiled robe and confining headdress. On the morrow, she’d find a way to clean both. Beneath the linen coif, her coronet of braids felt matted and untidy. She longed to unplait her hair and wash it, but the hip-length mane took hours to dry, so she merely reseated the wooden pins.
Clad in her chemise—for the thought of bathing nude in foreign surroundings made her uneasy—she sat on a smooth rock and dipped her toes in the water. “Ahh.” The seductive warmth chased the chill from her feet and moved up her legs. Sighing again, Alys slid onto a lower rock and submerged up to her chin. It was a bit hotter than her usual bath, but she welcomed the burning sting to banish her aches, soon grew used to it, in fact.
“How delightful.” Slithering around, she rested her back against a warm rock and soaked up the heat. Eyes closed, she let