The Black Lyon

tote.’ I wonder that Lord Ranulf’s curses did not char the wood.”
    Lyonene covered her giggle. “It will not be Sir Hugo who suffers, but I for causing all these problems.” She looked across the room and saw Alice sitting quietly on her pallet in the corner. “You know these men, Alice?”
    Corbet smiled. “It was she who obtained our jobs.”
    Alice pointed to her eyes, then theirs and Lyonene laughed. “Alice must have realized you were of the Black Guard, for I often tell her of Malvoisin.”
    “We are honored to be mentioned by one so lovely. A damsel in distress is our most favorite mission. I wish only there were a fiery dragon to slay in your honor.”
    She leaned back against the stone wall and looked at them. They laughed, but their mission was indeed serious and could cost them their lives. Yet they acted as if ’twere no more than an afternoon’s outing. She started to rise and Alice came to help her. She had slept in a woolen garment, ready for a quick escape.
    The two guardsmen stared at her, her new shape unfamiliar to them. “I can see what has happened to the sun.”
    Lyonene looked at Corbet in puzzlement.
    “You have swallowed it.”
    She laughed at the jest. Now was not the time to reprimand them for insolence. Now they were bound together by the ancient tie of friends amongst strangers. Later, at Malvoisin, they would return to the old formality, but now the circumstances were changed. Alice helped her into a heavy surcoat and mantle—warm, sturdy clothes.
    “You will not change your thoughts and come with us, Alice?”
    Alice smiled, touched Lyonene’s hair and shook her head. Her family and her ways were Irish. She did not wish to leave her home.
    Further talk was silenced by a cry outside the door. Lyonene was astonished at the speed with which Corbet and Sainneville moved. The two men put their backs to the door, keeping out the men who so violently tried to open it.
    “Get her near the window!” Sainneville commanded to Alice. “If need be, lower her down the rope. Herne waits below.”
    They could hear the clash of steel outside and loud voices. The pounding on the door decreased by half and then ceased altogether as Ranulf and his men engaged the guards in battle. Lyonene sat on a stool near the window, her face white, her nerves taut, threatening to snap.
    Ranulf’s battle cry was heard through the oak door; indeed, it seemed to fill the very stones of the donjon. Lyonene could but wait and listen, listen to the horrible cries, the sounds of steel and iron as they struck wood, stone and human flesh.
    Sainneville and Corbet watched her. They could do nothing to help their fellow guardsmen or their liege lord and the waiting was harder for them than the battle.
    When she thought she might not live much longer, so great was her paralyzing fear, Ranulf’s voice sounded outside the door.
    “Open!”
    Corbet and Sainneville threw back the heavy door to reveal a blood-encrusted Ranulf. His expression was wild—fierce and frightening.
    Lyonene tried to stand and greet him, but her legs would not support her. Alice helped her.
    Ranulf merely glanced in her direction, satisfied that she was unharmed. “Morell gathers men together, a few hundred. Gilbert has seen them riding hard toward us. He must have gotten word of our presence. I have sent a messenger to Dacre’s cousins and they will meet us due north of here.”
    Ranulf took one great stride across the room and lifted Lyonene into his arms, hardly looking at her. “Herne holds the horses below. See you to my weapons,” he instructed, nodding to Corbet.
    Lyonene buried her face against Ranulf’s mail-clad neck, the smell of blood overpowering. She did not know whether it was the smell or her terror, but her stomach tightened and pained her. There was time only for a brief farewell look to Alice.
    Eight black horses awaited them outside the donjon, with Tighe at the head. Ranulf lifted her into the saddle, and she clutched the pommel as another pain gripped her.
    “You are unhurt?” Ranulf demanded, his haste making his words harsh.
    “Aye, I am well.”
    “Then I must see to my man.”
    She turned in the saddle to see Maularde being helped to his horse. His left leg was bleeding profusely and his tabard showed a long, jagged cut.
    Ranulf exchanged a few words with his knight and then returned to Lyonene, mounting behind her.
    “He can travel?” she asked.
    “Aye, for a while. He took an ax blade in his leg.