Brother Cadfael 06: A Virgin In The Ice

because they threatened to kill me. And he is not gone far, I know it, he would not give up so easily. And now, don't you see, there is no one holding a knife at my throat, and no reason why they should not attack!"
    Olivier had caught his drift, and was eyeing him with respect and amusement. His gaze roved speculatively from the guard's discarded sword, lying in its sheath under the wall, to the battered conical steel helmet which had rolled into a corner beside it. The amber eyes in their deep, black-lashed settings, came back to Yves, dancing.
    "A pity we have no trumpets to sound the onset, but the makings of a very serviceable drum we certainly have. Under the wall with it, then, and try what you can do, while I stand guard here. They'll have but a matter of minutes to spend trying to hack their way through at us, after that they'll be busy below, if your friends out there are as quick-witted as you."
    Chapter Thirteen
    Brother Cadfael had spent the entire day prowling through the belt of trees, from one end of the crescent to the other, and back again, studying every fold of ground between him and the stockade, in search of even the most tenuous cover by which, once darkness came, a man might hope to approach nearer. Hugh would not allow any man to show himself in the open, and had gone to great pains, while deploying his forces as widely as possible, to keep them well out of sight. Alain le Gaucher could not get out, and the sheriff's powers could not get in, and absolute deadlock had Hugh gnawing his knuckles in frustration. Small doubt but there were lavish supplies of stolen meat and grain within, enough to keep the garrison snugly for some time. Starving them out would be a long business, and starve the unfortunate boy in the process. Le Gaucher might be willing to surrender him in return for free passage out for himself and all his men, but that would only be to place some other unhappy region under the same scourge. Not even a last resort! It was Hugh's business to restore order and do justice in this shire, and he meant to see it done.
    He had singled out from his ranks a number of men who claimed skill in climbing, and were born and bred in hill country, and drawn them back out of the ravine, to prospect round the summit in both directions, and see if they could find a level where it might be possible to climb out and penetrate the enclosure from the rear without being seen from above. The slight rise of the lip of land behind the fortress afforded cover, but from below it was seen to be cover for a sheer drop where only birds could hope to find foothold. The only remaining possibility was where they could not reconnoitre without being seen, and provoking a blade at the boy's throat yet again. Close to the stockade there might just be ground enough to let a man inch his way round to the rear, if he had a good head for heights. But to make the assay he would have had to cross a part of that bleak expanse of open rock, making Yves's death likely and his own certain.
    But in the darkness, yes, perhaps. If the covering of snow complicated movement, yet there were places where bare rock cropped out to break the betraying pallor. But the night came all too tranquilly, lambent light from snow and stars, a clear sky, crackling with frost. This one night when fresh snow and driving winds might have made vision delusive, and covered dark garments with their own protective veil, no gale blew and no flake descended. And the stillness and silence were such that even the snapping of a buried branch underfoot might carry as far as the stockade.
    Cadfael was just reflecting ruefully on this hush when it was abruptly shattered, blasted apart with a violence that made him jump almost out of his skin. Reverberating across from the summit came a loud metallic clanging like a great, ill-made bell, stroke on jarring stroke beating out a merciless peal that went on and on, piercing, demanding, a pain to the ears. Back among the trees men started to their feet, and ventured as near as they dared to the open, to stare across at the castle, and within the stockade, no less, arose shouts and bellowing and clamour that told Cadfael this music was none of theirs, had not been planned, was neither welcomed nor understood. If something had gone wrong within, then something profitable might yet be made of it without.
    The din was coming from the top of the tower. Someone up there was industriously thrashing away at a shield, or a