Gervase decided that they must be in the courtyard of a castle. No time was allowed for more speculations. He was unstrapped from the horse and pulled from its back by two men. They dragged him without ceremony towards another door and banged on its iron studs.
Bolts and a key were heard this time. When the second door swung open to admit them, their prisoner was taken down a circular staircase that seemed to burrow to the very centre of the earth. Gervase complained noisily as he scuffed the hard stone, but his captors paid no heed.
A third door was opened by a key and then a fourth. He had finally come to the end of his journey. One of the men untied the sack and lifted it from his head. The other man kicked him hard. Gervase went sprawling headfirst into a pile of noisome straw. As the door clanged shut behind him, he was back in thick darkness again.
The dungeon was damp and inhospitable. The reek of filth and excrement clutched at his nostrils like a hand. Breathing stertor-ously, he rolled over on his back and tried to assess his injuries.
Blood was trickling down his forehead after its collision with the floor, and a few pieces of sodden straw clung to his face. His limbs and body were racked with pain, but nothing seemed to be broken.
Gervase was about to take a more detailed inventory when something was borne in upon him. He was not alone. A loud rustle in the straw made him tense. Still bound, he was completely at the mercy of an attacker.
“Who’s there?!” he yelled.
“Cyfaill!” said a soothing voice. “Croeso!”
The hall at the castle of Ewyas Harold was filled with noise and laughter. Maurice Damville was a man with an insatiable appetite for pleasure. Seated at the head of the table, he ate voraciously and drank to excess. His knights revelled in his company. Their lord could be ruthless, often perverse, and sometimes utterly depraved, but he had a vein of generosity that made his vices seem less objectionable. When they were entertained at the castle the men were always given a lavish banquet. There were no ladies this time, no minstrels, and no dancers, but the feast was above reproach.
Damville ordered his cup to be filled with more wine.
“I will have to teach her to make this,” he said before taking a long sip. “One of many things I will teach her!”
“Who, my lord?” asked Huegon.
“Who else?”
“Aelgar?”
“The fairest maid in the county,” said Damville. “There is no stain on her beauty save one-she makes ale! I’ll not have that Saxon piss in my castle. Aelgar will learn to tend a vineyard and make the finest wine.”
Huegon was surprised. “Will she be here long enough?”
“Of course.”
“Ladies enough have already graced your bed, my lord.”
“They shall do so again, Huegon. Your argument?”
“It is merely an observation.”
“Let’s hear it. Come, man. You’ll not offend me.”
“Well, my lord,” said Huegon, carefully. “In that case, I have to point out that your passions rarely last a week.”
Damville guffawed. “They rarely last five minutes if she is just some comely milkmaid with the morning sun upon her hair!” His laughter faded. “But you are right, Huegon. Women arouse me and my interest soon wanes. That is what makes Aelgar so different. I have wanted her for months. The longer she keeps me at bay, the more I respect and desire her. Aelgar is not like the others, Huegon. My passion will not be extinguished after a few nights of madness between those thighs of hers.”
“What are you telling me, my lord?”
“When she moves into the castle, she stays.”
Huegon pursed his lips. “Is that advisable?”
“It is what I wish.”
“But the girl is a mere Saxon.”
“Of noble family. You can see it in her bearing.”
“Your own dear wife is due to visit Ewyas Harold in-”
“She can be stopped,” said Damville. “My wife and family belong in Normandy and there they’ll stay. I’ll have another wife at this castle.
Aelgar.” He grinned at the steward. “I look to you to give the bride away. Bend your thoughts to it. I want the nuptials without the wedding itself. Charm the lady. Talk her into my bed.”
“That will not be easy, my lord.”
“There have been troublesome courtships before.”
“Not like this one. She has a sister, Golde. Some might say her equal in beauty. A determined lady, by all accounts. It will be difficult to prise Aelgar away from her.”
“Then I’ll take both at once!” roared Damville. “Two sisters in one bed. We’ll make something much sweeter than ale between us.” A shadow of guilt passed across his face. “No, Huegon. It must not be like that. Aelgar is enough in herself. She is very special to me.”
“So I see, my lord.”
“I need her!”
Aelgar stared into the dying embers of the fire. It was only kept alight so that it could be used for cooking, but she huddled over it. On a warm evening, she was shivering. The sound of the bolt made her look up. The servant girl was shutting up the house for the night.
“Golde has not returned yet,” she said in dismay. “Do not lock my sister out.”
“She will not come back tonight.”
“How do you know?”
“It is too dark. The city gates are closed.”
Aelgar was pitched into an even greater state of anxiety. Golde was her only support. Her sister had warned her that there was a possibility that she might have to spend the night away, but Aelgar had not taken that threat seriously. It now confronted her with quiet menace.
She would have to spend a whole night alone with her grief and apprehension. Golde had nursed her until now. Her absence was devastating. Aelgar would have to lie by herself in the darkness, mourning a man she loved and fearing a man she hated. Warnod was dead, but Maurice Damville was still hideously alive. She could not hold him off forever.
Aelgar snatched up a knife from the table and hurried off to bed.
The weapon was not only for her protection. As she lay brooding in the darkness, she turned its point towards her beleaguered heart.
Hours had passed. He could wait in Llanwarne no longer. When Gervase Bret did not make his way to the village, Ralph Delchard knew that some mishap had befallen him. Against the advice of the sheriff, he decided to lead a search party. He and his four knights were soon galloping hard in the direction of Richard Orbec’s demesne.
They did not have to ride far across his land. It was a fine night and their torches made them visible for miles. Word of their arrival was quickly taken to Orbec himself. As Ralph led his men into a hollow by a stream, he was suddenly met by a wide semicircle of flame.
Twenty armed men held a torch apiece. In the flickering light they were ghostly. Ralph and his men reined in their horses. Richard Orbec had a sword in his hand as he eased his horse forward. His voice was steely.
“Who is it that dares to trespass on my land?”
“Ralph Delchard.”
“Turn round and ride straight back,” said Orbec.
“Not until I find Gervase Bret.”
“He is not here, my lord.”
“I believe that he is.”
“No,” said Orbec. “We stopped him as we will stop you and anyone else reckless enough to tread on my land. He left hours ago with his companions.”
“They came back,” explained Ralph, “but he did not. Gervase is like me, my lord. He is not easily frightened. Since he could not come here by right, he came by stealth. When your back was turned, he made his way onto Orbec territory-as you well know. Hand him over!”
“He is not in my custody.”
“God help you if he has come to any harm!”
“It has not been at my hands.”
“Gervase is here!” yelled Ralph. “Surrender him!”
“I cannot and I would not.”