“God’s breath! The grain storehouse is on fire!” ’Twas where the prisoners were held. He threw the tunic over his head, then grabbed his sword. Taking Aelia by the hand, he ran from the room.
“To the storehouse!” he called to the guard as he passed.
“Osric!” Aelia cried as they flew down the steps. “My brother is in that building!”
“And you will be staying here, in the hall, with Sir Gilbert and the wounded men while I get him out.” Mathieu knew she would resist him, but he had no intention of allowing her to join the chaos outside. All his men would be needed to put out the fire and collect the prisoners. There would be no time to deal with whatever trouble Lady Aelia could accomplish.
As he fastened his sword belt, he backed her up to a chair against the wall and watched her fall into it. Her cheeks were flushed with color and each breath seethed with outrage.
“I’m going out there,” she cried. She tried to get up from the chair, but he stood before her, his knees to hers. She tried to push her way free, but Mathieu trapped her in place, leaning over her and placing a hand on each arm of the chair.
He leaned close. “ Demoiselle, you will stay here, and give Gilbert no trouble. I will find your brother and assure his safety.”
“No! You can’t leave me here!”
Mathieu straightened and Aelia tried again to slip out of the chair. “Aye, I can.” He pushed her back where he wanted her. “Gilbert! Tie Lady Aelia in place and see that she does not leave the hall.”
A moment later, he clipped down the steps and raced toward the storehouse.
Ingelwald’s hall had never looked like this, Aelia thought as she entered the room.
The huge oaken table that had dominated the large chamber was gone, as were most of the chairs. In their place, ten or twelve injured men lay upon pallets on the floor, moaning or sleeping, as was their wont. Aelia did not take time to notice anything more, but bolted for the door, having easily eluded Sir Gilbert. The hapless Norman came after her, but became distracted when one of the injured men started to retch. She took advantage of the diversion and beat the herald to the door.
Thick smoke filled the yard and choked Aelia the moment she went outside. Undeterred, she headed toward the source of the smoke, the storehouse where Osric and the men of the fyrd were being held. There was already a line of men, women and children passing water-filled buckets toward the stable, which stood beside the grain storehouse, and carrying the emptied ones back to the well. Normans as well as Saxons worked to prevent the fire from spreading, but it seemed to be gaining in strength rather than waning. The heat from the flames was stifling.
’Twas a terrifying sight.
The fire had taken hold of the stable roof, and menwere leading horses out to safety. They’d already given up on the storehouse beside it, the place where Osric had been held.
Aelia ran to the front of the water line, where a number of Saxon men lay covered with dirt and ash, coughing and trying to catch their breath. A Norman warrior caught an empty bucket from the roof and handed it back down the line.
“Did everyone get out of the storehouse?”
“Who’s to know?” he replied. “At least some of them got out, but we don’t know if there are any more in there.”
“What about a young boy—a small, red-haired boy?”
The Norman took the next bucket and handed it up to a man on the stable roof. Aelia grabbed his arm. “The boy! Did you see a small boy come out of the storehouse?”
“No. Move aside or help, lady. There is no room here for bystanders.”
Aelia’s heart lodged in her throat. If Osric was still inside the storehouse, he would burn to death.
She heard Fitz Autier shouting orders, and looked up toward the sound of his voice. He had shed his tunic and stood on the stable roof, pouring water from the buckets that were handed up to him.
Aelia ducked away before he could take
“To the storehouse!” he called to the guard as he passed.
“Osric!” Aelia cried as they flew down the steps. “My brother is in that building!”
“And you will be staying here, in the hall, with Sir Gilbert and the wounded men while I get him out.” Mathieu knew she would resist him, but he had no intention of allowing her to join the chaos outside. All his men would be needed to put out the fire and collect the prisoners. There would be no time to deal with whatever trouble Lady Aelia could accomplish.
As he fastened his sword belt, he backed her up to a chair against the wall and watched her fall into it. Her cheeks were flushed with color and each breath seethed with outrage.
“I’m going out there,” she cried. She tried to get up from the chair, but he stood before her, his knees to hers. She tried to push her way free, but Mathieu trapped her in place, leaning over her and placing a hand on each arm of the chair.
He leaned close. “ Demoiselle, you will stay here, and give Gilbert no trouble. I will find your brother and assure his safety.”
“No! You can’t leave me here!”
Mathieu straightened and Aelia tried again to slip out of the chair. “Aye, I can.” He pushed her back where he wanted her. “Gilbert! Tie Lady Aelia in place and see that she does not leave the hall.”
A moment later, he clipped down the steps and raced toward the storehouse.
Ingelwald’s hall had never looked like this, Aelia thought as she entered the room.
The huge oaken table that had dominated the large chamber was gone, as were most of the chairs. In their place, ten or twelve injured men lay upon pallets on the floor, moaning or sleeping, as was their wont. Aelia did not take time to notice anything more, but bolted for the door, having easily eluded Sir Gilbert. The hapless Norman came after her, but became distracted when one of the injured men started to retch. She took advantage of the diversion and beat the herald to the door.
Thick smoke filled the yard and choked Aelia the moment she went outside. Undeterred, she headed toward the source of the smoke, the storehouse where Osric and the men of the fyrd were being held. There was already a line of men, women and children passing water-filled buckets toward the stable, which stood beside the grain storehouse, and carrying the emptied ones back to the well. Normans as well as Saxons worked to prevent the fire from spreading, but it seemed to be gaining in strength rather than waning. The heat from the flames was stifling.
’Twas a terrifying sight.
The fire had taken hold of the stable roof, and menwere leading horses out to safety. They’d already given up on the storehouse beside it, the place where Osric had been held.
Aelia ran to the front of the water line, where a number of Saxon men lay covered with dirt and ash, coughing and trying to catch their breath. A Norman warrior caught an empty bucket from the roof and handed it back down the line.
“Did everyone get out of the storehouse?”
“Who’s to know?” he replied. “At least some of them got out, but we don’t know if there are any more in there.”
“What about a young boy—a small, red-haired boy?”
The Norman took the next bucket and handed it up to a man on the stable roof. Aelia grabbed his arm. “The boy! Did you see a small boy come out of the storehouse?”
“No. Move aside or help, lady. There is no room here for bystanders.”
Aelia’s heart lodged in her throat. If Osric was still inside the storehouse, he would burn to death.
She heard Fitz Autier shouting orders, and looked up toward the sound of his voice. He had shed his tunic and stood on the stable roof, pouring water from the buckets that were handed up to him.
Aelia ducked away before he could take
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