Read Online The troubadour's song by Patricia Werner - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Werner
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Provencal who lay mortally wounded but not yet dead.
"Stop it," she commanded herself. She would never get to the woods and make her escape if she allowed such thoughts to tarnish her resolve.
She began her walk across the trampled meadow, going carefully, avoiding the refuse of the camp. Valuable weapons had been looted, but broken pieces, wagon wheels, and piles of rocks used as missiles in the siege machines remained. And the stench of death was all about. Fortunately, the odors had been diminished by the wind that carried them southward.
She stubbed her toe on a hard object protruding from the ground, and as she paused to favor her foot, she touched it again. Leaning down to make out its shape, she grasped it and tugged. A long dagger came away whole, missed no doubt by the French because it had been plunged into the soft earth. She wiped it on the grass and tucked it into her belt. A little farther on, she found a leather scabbard that she took also. It had no metals or gems upon it and so must have come from a humble man-at-arms, but it would do nicely for the dagger she'd found.
Moving faster once she'd crossed the erstwhile camp, she came
to more open land. And as she hurried across, she could now make out the line of trees. Only desperation would make her enter the dark woods alone at night. And before she got there, she paused, straining her eyes to watch for Jaufre's signal.
Behind her the lights from the castle were small pinpoints now. Nevertheless, any light shown here could be seen at the castle, so she still had to be careful.
"Jaufre," she called in a soft voice.
Of course there was the danger that he had been found out, arrested, and that in his place French soldiers waited to ambush her. Her voice shook as she called out again. But then she heard his answer, and relief swept through her.
"Lady Valtin" came a high-pitched voice she recognized. Then footsteps, and a figure emerged from the edge of the woods. Still she held her breath until he got near and she saw it was him indeed. His short brown runic and dark hose merged him to the night.
So relieved was she that she grasped his arms.
"Is everything as planned?" she asked, still feeling shaky.
"Very well, madam, and you had no trouble?"
Now the magnitude of what she had done made a wave of hysteria rush through her and she stifled a nervous laugh. She'd swung by a sheet, slid down a wall, crossed a river and a battlefield. But it had been no trouble.
Her breathing came in gasps as she gulped in air to steady herself. "All went well."
"You are damp, my lady. Come, the forester's wife has dry clothes ready and waiting."
"And horses?"
"No great difficulty. I caught two chargers, wandering after the battle, and I secreted them deep in the woods. The French soldiers did not have time to penetrate that far."
"Well done, Jaufre." For the first time since she'd crept out onto the castle wall, she began to feel that they might succeed.
"The horses are too big for my lady to ride comfortably, but
they are well-trained and sure-footed chargers. They'll carry us back home swiftly. Come, here is the path to the forester's."
The forester's cottage was located some distance in the forest on cleared land with a stockade fence around it. A small gate in the fence was unlatched, and Jaufre led his mistress inward.
"The hounds are kenneled and muzzled," he said. "No need to fear their teeth or their bark to give us away."
As an officer of the count of Toulouse, the forester held a responsible and often hated job: With his greyhounds, he pursued and arrested poachers.
They crossed the yard to the wattle and daub house and climbed wooden stairs to the doorway on the upper level. Below in the byre where the animals were kept, she indeed heard the whining of hounds, straining to identify an intruder. Allesandra gave a shiver, for if the French soldiers were on her trail, the dogs would be their allies.
But the forester's wife hustled them into a cozy
"Stop it," she commanded herself. She would never get to the woods and make her escape if she allowed such thoughts to tarnish her resolve.
She began her walk across the trampled meadow, going carefully, avoiding the refuse of the camp. Valuable weapons had been looted, but broken pieces, wagon wheels, and piles of rocks used as missiles in the siege machines remained. And the stench of death was all about. Fortunately, the odors had been diminished by the wind that carried them southward.
She stubbed her toe on a hard object protruding from the ground, and as she paused to favor her foot, she touched it again. Leaning down to make out its shape, she grasped it and tugged. A long dagger came away whole, missed no doubt by the French because it had been plunged into the soft earth. She wiped it on the grass and tucked it into her belt. A little farther on, she found a leather scabbard that she took also. It had no metals or gems upon it and so must have come from a humble man-at-arms, but it would do nicely for the dagger she'd found.
Moving faster once she'd crossed the erstwhile camp, she came
to more open land. And as she hurried across, she could now make out the line of trees. Only desperation would make her enter the dark woods alone at night. And before she got there, she paused, straining her eyes to watch for Jaufre's signal.
Behind her the lights from the castle were small pinpoints now. Nevertheless, any light shown here could be seen at the castle, so she still had to be careful.
"Jaufre," she called in a soft voice.
Of course there was the danger that he had been found out, arrested, and that in his place French soldiers waited to ambush her. Her voice shook as she called out again. But then she heard his answer, and relief swept through her.
"Lady Valtin" came a high-pitched voice she recognized. Then footsteps, and a figure emerged from the edge of the woods. Still she held her breath until he got near and she saw it was him indeed. His short brown runic and dark hose merged him to the night.
So relieved was she that she grasped his arms.
"Is everything as planned?" she asked, still feeling shaky.
"Very well, madam, and you had no trouble?"
Now the magnitude of what she had done made a wave of hysteria rush through her and she stifled a nervous laugh. She'd swung by a sheet, slid down a wall, crossed a river and a battlefield. But it had been no trouble.
Her breathing came in gasps as she gulped in air to steady herself. "All went well."
"You are damp, my lady. Come, the forester's wife has dry clothes ready and waiting."
"And horses?"
"No great difficulty. I caught two chargers, wandering after the battle, and I secreted them deep in the woods. The French soldiers did not have time to penetrate that far."
"Well done, Jaufre." For the first time since she'd crept out onto the castle wall, she began to feel that they might succeed.
"The horses are too big for my lady to ride comfortably, but
they are well-trained and sure-footed chargers. They'll carry us back home swiftly. Come, here is the path to the forester's."
The forester's cottage was located some distance in the forest on cleared land with a stockade fence around it. A small gate in the fence was unlatched, and Jaufre led his mistress inward.
"The hounds are kenneled and muzzled," he said. "No need to fear their teeth or their bark to give us away."
As an officer of the count of Toulouse, the forester held a responsible and often hated job: With his greyhounds, he pursued and arrested poachers.
They crossed the yard to the wattle and daub house and climbed wooden stairs to the doorway on the upper level. Below in the byre where the animals were kept, she indeed heard the whining of hounds, straining to identify an intruder. Allesandra gave a shiver, for if the French soldiers were on her trail, the dogs would be their allies.
But the forester's wife hustled them into a cozy
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