Page 83 of Mesmerized

They stood, hands locked together, suddenly engulfed in a world long dead.

Chapter Sixteen

STEPHEN AND OLIVIA smelled smoke and the scent of fresh blood; screams pierced their ears. It was as if a scene were playing out in front of them, and yet, strangely, they not only saw but also felt what the people before them felt.

* * *

SIR JOHN AND Lady Alys stood on a set of winding stairs. He was protectively below her, wielding his sword with ferocity against a small band of soldiers who were trying to push past him up the stairs. Behind him, Alys drew her dagger from its scabbard on her belt. Jewels winked in the hilt, but the blade was not decorative. She gripped it firmly, facing out, ready to jab at any man who tried to come at them from the side, where the steps were close to the ground.

Fear surged in her, along with the heated excitement of battle. She knew they had little chance. The enemy had gotten inside the bailey before they even knew they were besieged. Only treachery from inside could have managed it. This was the advance guard. Soon the rest of the men would have dispatched Sir Raymond’s remaining soldiers and, unless distracted by the prospect of looting, would join the men here, and then they would swarm up the steps.

The only safety lay in the tower room upstairs. It was the last bulwark of defense, high above the rest of the great hall, reached only by a set of narrow, twisting stairs. At the top of the stairs, a heavy wooden door opened into the round tower room, and it could be shut and barred with a heavy plank.

One could hold out for some time in the tower room, protected by the stone walls and thick wood, but eventually the door would be breached and death would come pouring in or, if not, one would die a slower death of thirst and hunger. It was possible, of course, that one could provision the room and thereby last longer, if the door held, but there were no provisions there now. There had been no warning, no time to prepare. Alys had barely managed to make it to these stairs leading to the room, carrying a hastily packed sack of her goods; she had reached it only because John had come running to meet her as she emerged from her room and had dragged her with him to the stairs, laying out around him with his sword.

“Go on!” he growled at her now. “Get up to the room.”

“I cannot leave you!” How could she run to safety, knowing that he stayed here below to perish under the enemy’s swords? “You must come with me.”

A soldier tried to come from the side of the stairs. There was no rail to the side low on the stairs here. It made it easier to defend, but it was also possible to put one’s hands on the stairs and try to swing up, which was what one of the enemy tried to do now. Alys jumped forward, bent down and stabbed her dagger into his hand. He fell back with a yowl of pain.

“My lady! Help!”

Alys looked out across the great hall. A woman was pelting toward the stairs, some distance in front of a pursuing soldier. She was dressed far better than a servant, and she was comely, as well, her hair a fall of raven-black. It was her husband’s mistress, Elwena, and she held a boy’s hand in hers as they ran with the speed of the terrified across the hallway.

“Help me, my lady! Please!”

Without thinking, Alys went down on her knees at the edge of the stairs, as low as she could get without impeding Sir John. Elwena reached the side of the stairs and lifted the child up. Alys caught him under the arms and swung him up onto the stairs, setting him back against the wall. Then she turned.

Elwena grabbed the stairs and tried to scramble up onto them, perilously close to John’s swinging sword. Alys reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling with all her might. The enemy soldier reached Elwena and grasped her by the belt, jerking her backward.

Behind them the little boy screeched with fear, “No! Mama! Mama!”

Elwena turned, a dagger in her hand, and struck swift as a snake, sinking the dagger into the break between the sleeve and tunic of the man’s chain mail. The tip sank into flesh to the bone, snapping off, and the soldier fell back with a roar of pain and rage. She turned and jumped at the stairs again, straining to lift herself up, her face contorted with fear. Alys lay flat on the stairs, almost beneath John’s feet, and grasped the woman’s belt as the soldier had done, straining to pull her up.

On the floor, several feet away, the wounded soldier staggered to his feet, clutching his wounded shoulder. He bent and picked up the sword he had dropped, and with a cry of fury he flung it at Elwena, as she dangled above the ground. The sword caught her in the side, cutting into her, then clattered down to the floor. She shrieked with pain and would have fallen but for Alys’s grasp of her. Alys struggled to keep hold of her, letting out a groan of dismay as Elwena began to slide back.

With a bitter oath, Sir John struck with all his strength, slicing into the neck of the soldier in front of him. Blood spurted as John pulled back his sword and with his foot shoved hard against the dying man, who staggered backward, crashing into the men behind him, and they fell, stumbling on the stairs. The soldier on the outer edge slipped on the blood, and John encouraged him over the side with a swift kick to the jaw. In the instant of peace this afforded him, he put his sword in his left hand and reached down to hook his hand in Elwena’s girdle and yank the woman up onto the steps. He turned just in time to dodge a blow from an enemy sword that clanged uselessly onto the stone. Switching his sword back into his right hand, he started to fight again with renewed fury.

“Mama! Mama!” The boy was still crying, and he flung himself on the woman, sobbing.

“’Tis all right, precious. Hush.” Elwena leaned back against the wall, her face gray.

“We must get you up the stairs,” Alys said, bending and putting her arm around the woman. “We are right beneath his feet. He needs more room to fight.”

Elwena nodded and pushed herself up with her hand as Alys lifted. They managed to stagger up a few steps before Elwena fell back to the ground. Having given John some breathing room, Alys knelt now beside the woman and examined her side. She was bleeding profusely. Alys dug into the sack she had dropped on the stairs as she had gone to help Elwena. She pulled out a linen shift and pressed it hard against Elwena’s side.

“’Tis the best I can do for now,” she told the other woman. “Mayhap ’twill stanch the blood.”

Elwena nodded, not wasting breath on words. She leaned against the wall, one arm around her young son. Alys looked at him with pity. He appeared to be no more than four or five years old. Even if he survived this day, in all likelihood he would be an orphan, for if Elwena’s present wound did not kill her, the soldiers would when they breached the tower room.

Alys glanced back at Sir John. He was still holding off the soldiers, though he was slowly retreating upward. She murmured a prayer for him under her breath, then turned back to Sir Raymond’s mistress. “We must go up the stairs.”

Elwena nodded. “Help me up.”

Again she managed to stand with Alys’s help. Alys sheathed her dagger and picked up her sack, curling her other arm around Elwena’s waist. Slowly they went up the steps, Elwena leaning against Alys, and the boy following behind them, keeping a death grip on his mother’s skirts. Every few steps they paused, and Elwena sagged against the stone wall for a moment. Then they started again.

The stairs seemed endless, and the sounds of battle were still a din in their ears. The stairs curved, and soon they could no longer see down to the bottom, where Sir John fought on. Alys’s heart ached at leaving him, yet she had to help the wounded woman to the room above them.