He slammed a fist into a table top, making it jump, and as it settled, he thought he heard something. A quiet, scraping noise that came from the back of the hall, maybe up in the solar.
Then there was a crash at the main door, and the whole hall seemed to shake with the impact. The bars across the door jumped in their seats, and one of Brian’s men let out a nervous cry. It would have affected their morale, but another man let out a fart, and that had the opposite impact. Men laughed, tested their blades, shifted their jacks about their shoulders, and faced the direction of the threat.
Brian himself stood at the front. There was another thundering noise like a massive hammer, and the timbers of the door could be heard to strain. Brian was uncertain whether to wait here or go to the women and hold a knife to their throats. That way, any man entering the hall would see him, and surely understand the message: ‘Set us loose or both die.’
A third shattering blow hit the door, and this time the entire door frame seemed to move. The bars moved in their sockets and creaked, and Brian went to the women, pulling out his knife as he went.
But the tapestries moved as though in a gust of wind. For a second he hesitated, and as a fourth shock swept through the hall, the tapestries were suddenly swept aside, and in rushed three armed men.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was the garderobe that gave them access. Os, like many others, had collected the box filled with wood ash from beneath the seat of the little room fitted on the outer wall of the solar. The room was shingled, and it took Os only a few minutes, once he had manhandled the ladder into place, to remove some of the thin chestnut tiles and open the roof. From then, he could climb in, axe held ready, and wait for Baldwin and Simon to join him.
Simon felt as though there was a thrilling in his veins, as if a thousand thousand birds were beating their wings along each of his limbs, the soft fluttering heightening all his senses, making his ears hear with greater sensitivity, making his eyes see more clearly, making his brain operate at twice its normal speed.
It was only the three of them. Baldwin wanted the rest of the men to grab the largest baulk of timber and pound at the door. That would distract Brian and his men. Meanwhile, the three would enter by the garderobe, hurry downstairs, and attack from inside. Osbert’s task was to get to the door and break or remove the bars so that all the others could pile inside. Baldwin and Simon would hold off the others so he could do so. They had crept down the stairs, soon reaching the lower chamber. There they found the guard whom Lady Annicia had killed. The door beyond was open, and they stood a moment listening. Then, on Baldwin’s count of three, they thrust the curtains aside and ran in.
Brian was in the middle of the floor. He saw Baldwin and turned to face him with a snarl on his face, still holding his crossbow. Osbert saw it, but ignored the danger. He ran straight on, past Brian, who turned to try to fire at him, but he was too slow, and the bolt went wide, punching a neat hole in the plaster of the wall. Then Osbert was at Brian’s men. His axe rose and swept around. Blood flew in gouts, and then he was at the bars.
The men tried to stop him. He had shattered the skull of one, who fell instantly. A second had a vast gouge in his shoulder, which had a flap of skin that flopped wildly, but the two last men were unhurt, and even as they reeled from the shock of Osbert’s attack, they were preparing to stop him reaching the door, for all could see his intention.
It was Simon who now flew at them. While Os thumped into the door at full speed and began to drag at the timbers, Simon arrived behind them with a scream so intense, so visceral, that one man shrieked in response. Both turned to fight him, forgetting for a moment the threat that Os posed. He pulled the first bar fully back, reached for the second and hauled, but the thing was stuck fast. It wouldn’t move. The pressure from outside had pinned the wood in the stone slot, and he couldn’t make it shift. He cursed, sweat pouring from his brow, and then punched it with main force. In his fist he felt a bone crunch and break, and then the bar moved, just a little, and he could slide it back.
The door slammed open, knocking Os from his feet, and in rushed the force, led by the Reeve of Chagford and Hugh. The two men fighting with Simon were despatched, and then Osbert could go to Flora. She sat in her chair, and he picked her up, unheeding of the pain in his hand, and carried her outside.
Baldwin had gone straight to Brian. He must reach the felon before he could kill the women. Brian had the crossbow in his hand, but it was useless now, so much sinew and wood. He had no time to reload and fire. Instead he swung it upwards, blocking Baldwin’s first blow. Baldwin slipped down and stabbed, but the blade went wide, knocked aside by the crossbow. It was only when Baldwin pushed forward and tried to get inside Brian’s reach, that he nicked Brian. He felt the blade grate on bone as he darted forward, and although Brian said nothing, Baldwin could see how his mouth became set. Baldwin had hurt him.
The bow was hurled at his head, and he must duck, and in the same moment Brian dragged out his sword and a dagger. Now he crouched, the knife forward, the sword held back for a swift riposte. Baldwin had no second weapon, and he paced forward slowly, warily watching Brian’s eyes, aware of the entire man, not only one hand or weapon, but the complete fighter. He saw a certain tension in Brian’s calves, and took a quick breath. Then Brian launched his attack.
He was good. His sword whirled high, and his dagger was almost an invisible blur underneath, the blow shielded and hidden by the greater threat of the sword, and Baldwin must retreat, blocking both with speed, only to see that both were only the first part of an attack. Now the dagger slid sideways as if to eviscerate Baldwin, and as he countered that, he realised that the sword was slicing towards his throat. He parried, then tried to regain the initiative by turning his blade and thrusting forward, but before he could complete the movement, he saw the dagger moving in once more. He sucked in his breath, curved his body away from the glistening, grey metal, and felt it slash at his belly, the pain nonexistent, the only sensation that of a faint dragging of skin with a dullness afterwards.
He would need another new tunic, he thought to himself inconsequentially, and then had to duck as Brian’s sword whirled past his skull. The dagger was there again, under his eyes, and he must move back again.
And then he saw it. Brian was confident of his victory. Baldwin must seem so old, so slow, Brian knew he could kill him. The blades flashed again and Baldwin gave way again, giving the impression of feebleness, watching carefully. Yes, there it was again: the shift of balance and quick change of foot. It was very quick, very assured, but it was a weakness.
The sword darted at his belly, the dagger behind and above, so that it could stab behind the false threat of the sword, but then he moved his feet just before lunging, and Baldwin had him. He grabbed Brian’s sword hand with his left, pushed, crouched, and kicked as hard as he could on Brian’s knee. There was a satisfying crunch, a high scream of pain, and Brian fell.
Baldwin stood over him, kicked him in the belly as he tried to stand, and then stabbed down once with his sword.
‘That is for Coroner Roger!’
The next morning was bright and clean, as though nothing foul or unpleasant could exist beneath the clear blue sky. When Simon rose, he could see not a single cloud to mar the perfection. The view was delightful, all the more so because he felt, if a little stiff, at least unmarked.