CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Athelfreda started suddenly. After all the earlier events culminating in the confrontation with the Comte de La Marché she was very much living on the edge of her nerves. There was a distinct tapping noise at the door of her room, very staccato extremely sharp and almost agitated. If it had been the Comte he would have loudly demanded entrance. No it must be someone else, but who? Well only one way go to the door and see who it was.

The noble Englishwoman moved quickly and almost silently and opened-up to the insistent enquirer. Peering into the dark she made out the stalwart figure of the pirate captain Rolf de Claimont. Before she had a chance to utter a word he had placed his hand over her mouth.

“No need to fear” he whispered “please do not cry out, I wish to have a brief discussion with you.”

Rolf released Athelfreda and with a wave of his hand ushered her to the interior of her own room.

“I followed de La Marché to your room earlier, and overheard the last portion of the conversation. I was lurking outside and so only picked-up part of the story. As I suspected the Comte is a determined fellow who will brook no interference. He probably does not remember me but inspite of not appearing to recognise him at our earlier encounter .......”

“What do you mean Rolf?” enquired Athelfreda.

“Some years ago I was in a deputation with Savary de Mauléon the Poitevan mercenary. It was all about the Normandy situation. De La Marché was on the opposite side. The Comte would barely remember someone as obscure as myself, I didn’t have this dratted scar then. Still no matter I already know the measure of the man.”

“What was he like then? I realise that with the fortunes of war unlikely bedfellows are flung together. In the same way some opponents can sometimes develop into friends.”

“Yes Athelfreda” mused Rolf “but I would not place that arrogant, status-orientated de La Marché in the latter class. A cold fish that one, I would find it hard

to genuinely trust him.”

“I trust him” snapped the young woman “I trust him for what he is, a vicious unprincipled swine. Anyone who would seek to take advantage of someone under his protection is worthy of only contempt.”

“I agree but he is an efficient warrior and well regarded amongst his peers. His brother seems a more amenable individual but not one to stand-up against de La Marché unless there was a particularly good reason.

“Well what do we do now? How can we make a satisfactory get-away?”

“Bide our time for the moment, dear Lady. Wait for our opportunity, I agree sooner rather than later, but not just now. Everyone will be on the look-out for some movement on our part, lull the Frenchies into a false sense of security first.”

“Alright but watch out for Hugh and yourself. Remember de La Marché is not too squeamish about how he treats you. He purports to have some sensibilities to myself and the other women but against you two men he is ruthless in the extreme.”

“Don’t worry Athelfreda we have both survived against more difficult odds have Hugh and I.”

“Well, fair enough but do be careful.”

“Thank-you for your concern” smiled Rolf “would you object to a quick caress, we may not have the opportunity again for some considerable time.”

“Speed is not necessarily a good policy in all matters” responded Athelfreda “for some things slowness and deliberation give greatest joy.”

Athelfreda quickly disrobed and flinging her arms round Rolf pulled him hungrily to her. The pirate chief offered no resistance when the young woman led him to her couch. That fierce burning in his temples was on him again. What an amazing human being was this friend of the Earl of Salisbury. Rolf sought to focus his mind, take control but in Athelfreda’s power he seemed totally helpless. His body could function but only as an adjunct to his love-partner’s passionate movements. Strange as it appeared his brain was now virtually in a cloud unable to discern between time and space. All the past events were swept clean out of his mind. He was young again swimming against a tide of flagrant flowers which engulfed his whole body. There was laughter and a tender throbbing which took control of him. His
shoulder-blades quivered and shook and now he was interchangeable with Athelfreda as his whole being was subsumed within something greater than himself. He heard a cry, was it his own, but not of pain rather of total joy as he crashed yet ever so gently into a brave new World.

“Do you generally take-up so much of the bed?”

Rolf was brought back to reality by the cheerful tones of Athelfreda. He turned to face her his brow glistening with sweat. Suddenly he realised where he was and the hazards that faced them. Still they were not in immediate danger and it was good both for the body and the soul to relax in the path of pressure. There was only so much that the human body could take. The delirious experience that they had shared was a great contribution to easing both their troubled minds.

Rolf subsequently dressed and giving Athelfreda a cheeky wink he left her room to return to his own quarters. Having been a man of action for much of his life he had developed an extra sense that could identify trouble before it arrived. Suddenly he stiffened, anticipating something untoward he pressed his back against the wall, seeking to become as unobtrusive as possible. His premonition was correct, walking arrogantly down the corridor was the Comte de La Marché. A stern-faced older man was keeping him company. Quietly but reasonably well-dressed this individual looked to be some servant of senior standard. Everything about him was precise even to the point of a short neatly-clipped black beard. Someone who doubtless was used to obeying orders and following them out to the letter.

“Pierre you know what I want you to do? You have been a highly effective instrument of my will. Men such as you are difficult to find, and when you do find them keep them as your steadfast ally.”

“I thank-you for that confidence in me master. I have memorised everything to the last detail. Never fear the problem will be eradicated as speedily as it has arrived.”

“Good, I find that I need never repeat anything to you. How is that son of yours, Pierre, is he growing-up strong and well?”

“Yes and no monsieur Le Comte” responded Pierre “he is at that difficult age. At times he can be a trifle irascible. I feel that his future may lie in the military field
possibly an archer, or man-at-arms.

“Well tell me if I can be of any help on that front. I would welcome a sturdy youth amongst my retainers.”

With that comment the Comté swiftly turned on his heel, with just a parting shot “Remember Pierre if you want me I will be in conference with Prince Louis. God be praised our King Philip has many years left to him but pious Louis, the chaste faithful Louis should be monarch of England before the New Year is upon us, or at least not much after.”

Rolf’s mouth almost dropped in anguish. He had been out of touch with events for a good few months now. What had happened? Had the French become involved in the war in England? Had the barons sought alliance with those devils? It was almost like an eternity before de Claimont felt that he could move without attracting unwanted attention. Stealthily he tiptoed to his room glancing swiftly from side to side, and then gaining entry flung himself on his bed. He thought feverishly for a while then believing that there was little he could usefully do he decided to get some sleep. In the circumstances he found unconsciousness difficult to come by. There was no other way, he must have a word with his hench-man Hugh. Good old Hugh, he was always a good ally. He should be told the present situation.

De Claimont dressed quickly and made his way to Hugh’s room. There were no lights when he entered and the whole area had a quiet, spectral appearance about it. Rolf made good at least part of this inadequacy by gingerly searching for a candle and then, moving cat-like to the door, sought a light from one of the burning tapers outside. Re-entering Hugh’s quarters he moved towards the bed where his friend lay apparently oblivious to the whole World.

“Hugh!” whispered Rolf fiercely “Hugh, wake-up there is something I must tell you.”

“Hugh will awake no more, Englishman!”

De Claimont spun round to confront Pierre, the stern-jowled retainer. The faithful, dogged servant of the Comté had a look of sheer malevolence on his face, the closest to passion that that slavish individual could probably muster.

“What do you mean, knave?” snarled Rolf “In any case what are you doing
here?”

“My work is done already” snapped Pierre “my dagger has already found your comrade’s heart. He suffered no pain, or relatively little, he slept while I sent him to Hell.”

“You fiend!” roared de Claimont “What cowardice is this? Defend yourself now against an opponent who is awake.”

With that the Englishman drew his sword and thrust at the Frenchman. The latter showing more alacrity than might have been expected from one of his years sprung aside and simultaneously flung his cloak over Rolf’s lighted candle which he held in his left, non-sword hand. The room was in near total darkness but Rolf felt his street-wise experience would see him through. Damn it, he had struck his shin on Hugh’s bed. He hobbled about, saw a shape then thrust and missed. God, if only he could see his enemy, that had been Hugh’s misfortune too. He must keep his mind clear, he must focus properly, this Pierre was the very Fiend himself.

“Ah-h!” Rolf gasped in pain as he felt his enemy’s sword cut into his right shoulder. However, that was the opportunity that he was ironically waiting for. Pierre had shown him where he was without fatally wounding him. The younger man leapt at the Frenchman and pulled him to the ground. Wrestling the weapon from his sword arm was no great problem given Rolf’s greater strength. Then his eyes caught another glint, a dagger in the man’s other hand coming straight at his chest. Twisting rapidly he pinioned the man down and then brought his large fist crashing against the arrogant jaw.

What to do next was the problem immediately confronting him. The residence consisted mainly of people asleep but obviously there would be people on duty dotted here and there. His thought process was disturbed by a muffled cry of pain nearby. He turned to see Pierre lying on the ground clutching his chest. His adversary fixed him with a savage defiant scowl lifting his head ever so slowly. Then he fell backwards again his eyes blank and staring upwards at the ceiling, apparently all life extinguished.

“Good job I had just about recovered my senses, captain.”

Rolf looked-up to see the grim but sardonic countenance of his stalwart first
lieutenant Hugh. God, how had he arisen from the dead? What was happening here?

“It was sound practice of me to wear my mail-shirt under my clothing” commented Hugh almost in response to Rolf’s unspoken thought, “the swine caught me a side-blow on the head first, a shifty customer him, I didn’t hear him coming at all. He must have thrust a couple of times at me but this protection will take more than a fancy French dagger. I had just about come to when I saw the devil rising to strike at you. The only thing for it was to polish him off with my good English steel.”

“Thanks for that, Hugh” gasped Rolf “and by God how glad I am to see you alive, I never realised how much I valued you until you were dead.”

“Not quite dead I hope, skipper” roared Hugh in amusement “ready and waiting to obey your commands when you give them.”

“Well there may be a number of those old friend. First of all I could do with some good advice. How do we get out of this place not just ourselves but the young ladies as well. We can both look after ourselves but I would consider it a great dishonour if any of the women in our care were even slightly injured.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way” responded Hugh. “We’ve not survived as long as we have without showing fire and determination when the situation is really tough. I know we can do it again, danger brings out the best in us.”

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