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Agnes thrust a scrap of wrinkled parchment into my hands. “No quill,” she said.
And so I used charcoal from the fire to scratch out my idea.
CHAPTER 43
Margery placed the scrap of paper on a table in the baron’s chambers, but if he saw it, no one ever told me. What I did know was that after another day of bloodshed, of men on both sides killing and dying, Sicard’s men withdrew for the night. And in the winter darkness, every farmer and peasant for miles tiptoed through the woods, the blades they used for slaughtering pigs and butchering rabbits clutched in their work-roughened hands.
They’d cut the throats of a hundred men before the rest could draw a sword or notch an arrow. By the time Sicard’s soldiers had armed themselves, the baron and his knights were waiting, having crept out through the secret sally port armed with spears and battle axes and maces.
It was a rout. By the time the sun was an inch into the sky, Sicard had surrendered.
The baron rode back into the castle across the lowered drawbridge and entered the outer bailey to the sound of deafening cheers. He didn’t take off his helmet or acknowledge the people reaching up to him in gratitude.
“He just went into his chambers,” Margery said, pouring me wine she swore wasn’t sour, “and then summoned the doctors. He was cut by Sicard’s own blade.” She smiled. “But he was brave,Hannah. He had two mounts die beneath him and he never turned away—”
“I should hope not,” I said, taking a sip from the silver cup. It tasted thick and sweet. “A man who orders others onto the battlefield belongs in the midst of it himself. Is his wound fatal, I hope?”
“You say the most terrible things!”
“I’m only being honest.”
“Just keep your mouth shut when you leave this room,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll be sent to the stocks, and they won’t let me wait on you there.”
“Are you taking me to hear another of the baron’s pretty speeches?” I asked sharply. “Or is he still in his feather bed, nursing his scratch?”
“He’s in the great hall,” she said, “and you’re to dress and see him there.”
CHAPTER 44
After Agnes combed my hair so hard that I thought my scalp would bleed, Margery twisted it into a series of low, dark whorls at my neck. Then she pulled a pale-blue gown edged with white lace from the locked trunk. “This will do, I think,” she said.
“Whose dress was this?” I asked as she tugged the satin sleeves up my arms.
“Does it matter?” Margery stepped back to admire it. “It’s lovely.”
The satin was cool and smooth under my fingertips, and the lace was so delicate I was almost afraid to touch it. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Had it belonged to the old baron’s wife? Or was it made for a daughter she hoped she’d have? All I knew was that it belonged on the shoulders of a lady, not a peasant, and I felt like an utter fool in it.
“Why does the baron mock me?” I asked as Margery slipped fine leather boots on my feet. “Does he give his pigs pearl necklaces?”
Agnes snickered, but Margery looked at me with great offense. “You’re a beautiful girl,” she said.
“I’m a commoner,” I said. “I’m not even supposed to look a noble in the eye.”
“I don’t pretend to know what the baron wants or thinks,” Margery said. “I just do as I’m told.”
“And so will you, if you know what’s good for you,” Agnes added. And she gave my arm a hard pinch as she shoved me out the door.
Two waiting guards—not the hard ones who had brought me here, though I felt sure these would be no better than the others—took their places on either side of me and led me away down the passage.
The great hall, which occupied the second floor of the keep, was warmed by a huge fire and lit by countless candles. The smell of charred meat made my mouth water. At the long wooden tables, there must have been a hundred men at least, and by the look of them, they’d been eating and drinking for hours already. Their faces were wine-flushed and their voices rang out as they bragged of their roles in the fight.
At the far end of the hall, on a raised platform, the baron sat at a table draped in rich velvet. He seemed freshly scrubbed, but there was a gash across his brow that looked red and angry. He raised a goblet to me, as if in a toast.
“Go and join him,” the first guard said.
I shook my head and remained where I stood.
“Tebben was right about her,” he said to the other. “Doesn’t do as she’s told.”
