Blood Red Roses

1.

Blood Red Roses

By

Katherine Deauxville

Prologue

THE TALLY REEVE CAME LOOKING FOR her along the walk at the top of the curtain wall, threading his way among the men-at-arms who hunkered down out of sight of the Earl of Chester's archers. From the look on his face, Alwyn supposed he had more bad news. Probably the cook had sent him to nag at her again about food for the evening meal.

At any time now, it was to be expected that Castle Morlaix would surrender. At least that was the way their attackers reasoned it. No woman, except one other that Alwyn had heard of, had ever defended a siege of a castle.

She took another bite of bread, sitting on a water cask, elbows propped on her drawn-up knees. She'd been on her feet since dawn, and now the sun was setting. As she put the piece of bread to her mouth Alwyn noticed it was gray with smoke and dirt. She looked down and saw her filthy hands. The bread had been clean before she picked it up

"My lady," the tally reeve called, sidling along the parapet. He did not raise his voice; the bowmen encamped below the portal gate shot at any noise. "The cook wishes to know if you will come down now and see to the people who wish to be fed."

Alwyn stuffed the last of bread in her mouth and nodded yes, so that he would go away. After thirteen days of siege she had learned they would not have another assault on the walls so close to nightfall. But in the dark the sappers would work on their tunnels again, digging under the outer walls and the ward and making for the stone tower of the keep to set underground fires in the hope it would collapse.

The Earl of Chester's knights made much of their beleaguered condition.

Three times a day, in early morning, at noon prayers, and at sunset, a herald in elegant silks rode up under a White flag of parley and blew his horn. When he was sure they were listening, he exhorted the Welsh and English men-at-arms and the garrison of Norman knights to overthrow the Lady Alwyn and bargain for terms of surrender. Which, according to him, were extraordinarily generous: the Earl of Chester, Hugh of Avranches, would pardon all inside Castle Morlaix and allow them to depart with safekeeping. The Norman knights would retain all their arms and their horses. The Welsh and English men-at-arms would be allowed an escort out of the marches. And the villagers who had taken refuge inside Morlaix could return to their lands in the valley without fear of punishment.

All they had to do was turn over Fulk de Jobourg's wife to his rightful liege lord, the Earl of Chester.

It was about time for the herald to make his sundown visit; they could hear his horn in the distance.

One of the Welsh bowmen sitting with his back to the wall said, "Don't you pay no attention to what that fancy horn tootler says when he comes, milady. Especially about it being unnatural and all for a woman to lead us. Lord love us, I'd give a good penny to send an owl-feathered shaft through that poppinjay's throat."

Alwyn shook her head. It was not allowed to shoot a herald. They all knew that.

"If your lord husband was here," one of the English pikemen put in, "we'd show how them what's what. He'd raise this bloody siege and send that earl's dirty scavengers packing right off."

She managed a smile. If Fulk de Jobourg would come to their relief. She heard it a thousand times a day. Even now, the castle people believed she'd welcome him. This husband who had never wanted her.

Who perhaps did not want her now.

Under the wall, Chester's herald was shouting his opening remarks. He was very skillful, Alwyn thought, standing up so that she could see him. Or perhaps someone else had composed his flowery, persuasive words.