The Du Lac Chronicles: Book 1 Read online

  “Annis of Wessex?” He stammered over the Wessex, as if the name in itself caused him great suffering, and closed his eyes, not waiting for her to answer him.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered back. “I am so sorry for what my father did to you.”

  “Me too,” he answered. The dream of Edmee still lingered and the horrors of the last sennight were too recent to be easily dismissed.

  “Alden.” She paused and chewed on her lip. He was in no fit state to travel. He could hardly move. There was no way they would make it out the castle safely. Best that her mother tells her father everything now. Perhaps Father might even be merciful; perhaps he would have the blade of the axe sharpened.

  “My Lady,” he said wearily, opening his eyes again to look at her, although Annis could see what strength it took out of him to perform such a simple gesture.

  “We are not safe. My mother knows you are here, in my room, and she has sworn that if you are still here this time tomorrow then she will tell our lord, her husband, the King, Cerdic of Wessex, where you are and what part I had in your escape.”

  “I don’t understand.” He wished the fog would clear from his mind so he could concentrate on this conversation, but he felt so tired, his body was demanding sleep and dear God above, he was cold. He closed his eyes again.

  “My lady mother cares about her position. Nothing more,” Annis said, talking more to herself than to him. “I know her. I know what she is capable of. I have always been a thorn in her side. She failed when she conceived me. What use is a girl?” Annis shook her head. “Better if I had died and my brother had lived. She blames me for his death. I was an innocent baby, but she blames me, says I took all the nourishment from her body and would not let my brother feed. That I was in such a hurry to be born that I strangled my brother with the cord.” Annis stood and began to pace. “She will do it. She will see me die.”

  Another shiver racked Alden’s body and he breathed deeply, remembering when he and Merton had once been stuck out in a storm in the middle of the channel, in a boat that was taking on water. It had been a desperate situation then, and he thought he had never been so cold in his life; but that was nothing to the situation he found himself in now and there was no Merton by his side, keeping his spirits up, laughing in the face of death. “Do you have a plan?” His voice was that of a man knowing that he had been defeated and all hope was lost.

  Annis stopped pacing and stared at him. His eyes were still closed and his face etched in pain. She watched as he opened his eyes and looked at her.

  “I will think of something.” She stated boldly.

  Alden merely groaned and closed his eyes.

  3

  His head felt like someone was banging it with a mallet, and he had completely lost his bearings. He had no idea if they were going up or down hill.

  Annis yelped as a rat ran over her foot. There seemed to be no end to the tunnel and the farther they progressed the more vermin there seemed to be. She flashed the torch lower to the ground; the rats froze and then scampered away squeaking loudly.

  “Keep going,” Alden encouraged, although it wasn’t her that was having trouble walking.

  Annis’s back ached with the effort of keeping Alden on his feet. She would have liked to stop and rest, but that was not an option. If they stopped, they died.

  Her mother had kept her word. She had sent in the troops. Luckily they found an empty room and had no knowledge that just above the dead fire in the hearth, a little way up the chimney, there was a secret passageway, where the enemy of the King and his easily misled daughter sat, trying not to breathe, trying not to make a sound, as the soldiers below ransacked the chamber.

  “Look,” Alden said, raising his head as he felt the coolness of fresh air on his cheek. “A draught.”

  Annis raised the torch she held in her hand. The tunnel had come to an end and they found themselves in a small cavern. Wet, slimy mould covered the walls, the floor was damp underfoot and there was the distinct sound of water dripping. It smelt strongly of rodents and decay.

  “There has to be a way out,” Alden said, with an edge of desperation in his voice. His father had told him about this castle when he was just a little boy and Alden had listened with wide eyes as his father spoke about the many hidden tunnels and where they led. It was how they had found the hideaway in the fireplace…old knowledge passed down. Of course, Alden’s father, may he rest in peace, knew all about the King of Wessex’s castle, because his father had helped the former king design it. It was different, though, hearing about such things and actually experiencing them, but then, maybe the tunnel had been in better repair when his father knew it.

  Annis looked up; the ceiling was high and far out of reach. She raised the torch and in the flickering light, she could just make out a small rectangular hole cut into the stonework. A well-maintained wooden trapdoor covered the hole, but it was shut fast, with no handle, not that they could have reached it if there had been one.

  Annis flashed the torch around the cavern, looking for an alternative exit. There was a small hole in the corner, which the rodents made good use of and where a small stream seemed to run and where the draught was coming from; apart from that, there were only two ways out — the way they had come or through the impossibly high, sealed trap door.

  “I guess we are to die here,” Alden said, as the floor came up to meet him and he fell heavily to his knees.

  “Better here than my chamber. I promised myself I would not die in that prison,” Annis stated, sniffing back the tears. She could not look at the King of Cerniw now. She feared he was dying; her care for his wounds was at best inadequate. She had thought she was saving his life; all she had done was postpone his death.

  She placed the torch against the wall and sat down next to him and, without waiting for permission, took his hand in hers. She needed that contact, the contact of another human being. Otherwise, she feared she would give in to despair.

  Alden cursed in his native tongue and then he lay down gingerly on his side and he pulled her down with him.

  “Better than an axe,” he said with a twisted, pain-filled smile on his face.

  “Better than an axe,” she echoed his words and watched as he closed his eyes.

  Dutifully, Annis lined up with her parents, welcoming her father’s guests and trying to ignore the light wind that blew in through the opened door, causing a chilly draught.

  Edmee had brushed past her with her nose high in the air and a sour expression on her face. It seemed that a year as Queen of Cerniw had done little to improve her mood and had increased her feeling of superiority. Annis ignored the subtle slight, for it was in Edmee’s character to be ignorant and downright unpleasant. Even as a child, she had suffered from Edmee’s hateful mouth and compulsive lies that got Annis into trouble more times than she cared to remember. Edmee, with her pretty face, was believed, over a plain child, with wild curly hair, who cried a lot and was responsible for her brother’s death.

  Annis was glad this visit of Edmee’s would be short, for she could not stand hearing her condescending voice for weeks on end.

  She watched Edmee as she wove her slender frame around the growing numbers of courtiers who stood in small groups, drinking her father’s wine and talking about nothing of importance to each other. Edmee shunned the noblewomen and began to chat, quite animatedly, to a small group of old men. She seemed to lap up their attention and encourage their flirtation. She reminded Annis of her father’s hunting bitch when she was in heat. She frowned in disgust and looked away.

  Edmee laughed loudly and drew the attention of a few other courtiers. Soon she had a small crowd gathered around her, vying for her attention. She was very pretty, Annis allowed as she glowered at her, although it made her feel ill to do so, with her bright blue eyes, her long blonde hair and perfect body; but her beauty was only skin-deep; her heart was cold and wic
ked. She was, after all, a true Saxon. Still, she had a confidence about her that Annis envied.

  She was still watching Edmee when Alden stopped in front of her. He bowed and Annis, as protocol demanded, curtsied. She had expected him to walk past her, like every other of her father’s guests had done, scarcely glancing at her as they did so, and at least rescue his wife from the attentions of the old leeches and the not-so-old men, whom Annis would not have minded paying her a little attention. But he ignored his wife and actually stopped and spoke to her, complimenting her on her dress. Annis blushed, and tried very hard to think of something sensible to say, but failed miserably. Alden smiled at her apparent discomfort, his eyes sparkling with suppressed amusement. He then proceeded to take her hand in his, squeezing it gently before raising it to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on her palm, which he then closed her fingers on.

  Annis’s whole hand tingled where his lips had touched, and her heart pounded in her chest. No man had ever offered her any type of kiss before, even a chaste one such as this. He winked at her, as if she were some sort of fellow conspirator. He then walked away in the opposite direction she noticed, to his wife. Annis could not help the smile that lifted the corner of her lips as she watched him walk across the room. She felt Edmee’s gaze on her and she turned to face her cousin. If looks could have killed, Annis would have died, but looks did not and so she lived. Edmee turned her attention to her husband. The frown on her face and the anger in her eyes showed the world what kind of woman she really was. She was a Saxon. No one, not even a king, upset a Saxon. She threw Annis another filthy glance. Annis hated the blush that stole her cheeks and looked away intimidated. She curtsied as another noble passed her by, and then she caught her mother’s disapproving scowl from the corner of her eye. Her mother had obviously seen what had transpired between her and Alden. Suddenly she wished the ground would swallow her up. She risked a look at her father who, thankfully, had not noticed, which was a small mercy.

  Annis had excused herself and spent the evening hidden behind a curtain, watching Alden dance and imagining that she was his dance partner. Disappointedly, she noticed that he flirted with all the women that he danced with and concluded that it was simply in his character. But every so often, she noticed that he looked around the room as if he were searching for someone, and she wondered who it could be. Not for one second did she imagine he was searching for her; she wasn’t vain like Edmee. She knew she did not possess the looks that men found attractive; she was just ordinary. But oh, how she wished. She held her palm to her mouth and laid her lips over the place he had kissed.

  It was a foolish fancy to think that just because her life was over and that she had fallen asleep next to a dying man in their own damp tomb, her body would just stop working. So she knew that feeling surprised to be awake and feeling the hard floor against her body was the most ridiculous thing.

  “Are you still alive?” she asked in an urgent whisper, fearing he would not answer.

  “Unless God has decided to keep us here in hell, then I am still alive,” Alden muttered back.

  “Can your God do that?” Annis asked, as frightened as a child, for she had heard strange rumours about the Christian god.

  “Lately, I am beginning to wonder if he has any powers at all,” Alden said. “He hasn’t helped me much.”

  “Perhaps he sent you me,” Annis said, without conviction.

  “Perhaps.” Alden tried to sit, his hands digging into the damp floor and he gritted his teeth to hold back the moan of pain. “Or perhaps you can tell me why you would do such a foolhardy thing and rescue me? We are going to die here, Annis, you and I, in this godforsaken place, and if you want the truth, I don’t think I care.”

  “You are in pain. You would think differently if you were not.”

  “Maybe,” Alden allowed. “Why did you rescue me?”

  “I don’t think I did.”

  She heard Alden chuckle in the darkness. “The intention was there anyway. Why? Why would you want to help me?” There was genuine puzzlement in his voice.

  “My father was wrong.” She had practiced that sentence in her head many times, but now she had spoken it out loud it seemed inadequate and almost childish. “What he did to you was wrong.”

  “Your father wrongs a lot of people. Yet you did not save them. Why me?”

  “It must have been your lucky day,” she answered as she scrambled to her feet. She could never tell him the truth; she could never tell him she had done it for love.

  “Lucky?” He scoffed. Yet he seemed to accept her answer, for he made no further attempt at trying to gain the truth from her.

  “Your father is a monster,” Alden said after a long while of uncomfortable silence.

  “I know what he is,” Annis answered, her voice tight.

  There was movement from above, a soft scratch, followed by a louder bang, then a string of curses.

  “Soldiers.” Annis reached for Alden’s arm and helped him to stand. A soft gasp of pain escaped him as he straightened. He took Annis’ hand and felt her curl her fingers around his.

  “I think our luck just ran out,” he muttered. Then, as pointless as the gesture was, he pulled her behind him. He strained his eyes, willing them to adjust to the gloom, and raised his head and looked in the direction of the trapdoor.

  The trapdoor creaked dreadfully and soft light flooded the chamber below. Alden took a step back, wishing he had his axe, or for that matter, any type of weapon. He moved back farther, bringing Annis back with him, hoping the shadows of the tunnel’s walls would hide them.

  But no army of men descended into the cavern. Instead, the sound of out-of-tune and ear-piercing singing came down from above. The singing turned to humming as the man forgot the words.

  “A new form of torture, do you think?” Alden asked under his breath.

  Annis had to swallow a nervous giggle. Considering the situation they were in, she was surprised she could find anything remotely funny. It was him, she realised; he was the kind of person who could use humour despite or maybe even because of the situation.

  “Horses,” Alden whispered.

  Annis could smell the sweet smell of hay and the unmistakable aroma of horse sweat and leather coming from above. “We must be under the stables,” she agreed. “What shall we do?”

  “Watch and wait,” Alden stated, for there was nothing else they could do.

  The singing started up again and Annis couldn’t help but screw up her face at the sound. It really was awful.

  The bottom of a rope ladder landed on the floor with a thud and Alden caught his first sight of a single man as he staggered down the swinging rope one-handed, for in the other he carried a small barrel. The singing trailed off as the groom’s feet touched the floor and he began to whistle instead, which was almost as bad as the singing. He staggered a few paces and then he put his barrel down and began to climb unsteadily back up.

  “This is our way out,” Alden said, stepping out of the shadows.

  “They say the devil saves his own.” Alden raised his voice and spoke in the language of the Britons. “I think the devil was jesting when he sent me you.”

  The man whipped around at Alden’s voice, almost losing his footing. He grabbed hold of the rope ladder desperately. “You!” he gasped in open-mouthed astonishment.

  “Apparently so. You still haven’t learnt to sing yet, have you, David?”

  “Du Lac?” He swung precariously on the ladder.

  “Last time I looked.”

  “Do you know him?” Annis asked in wonder. She could not understand what they said for her father had refused her request to be taught Briton. He said it would demean her. But she could tell when old acquaintances met and it was apparent that Alden and this man knew each other, although she could not imagine how.

  “Singing practice,” Alden stated dryly in Latin, whi
ch earned him a glower, before he reverted back to Briton. “David, are you going to hang there all night, or are you going to wait until all our necks are on the executioner’s block?”

  “I heard you had escaped,” David said. He began to hurriedly climb down the ladder, missed one step and fell to the floor with a soft thud. Cursing, he struggled back to his feet.

  “Are you drunk?” Alden asked.

  “Not nearly enough,” David answered. “What’s she doing here?” He indicated Annis with a contemptuous nod of his head.

  “She helped me escape,” Alden answered.

  “I thought your brother had — ”

  “I doubt my brother knows I am here.”

  David stepped closer. “There are soldiers everywhere looking for you.”

  Annis took a step back because the smell of ale was so strong it was as if he had bathed in it.

  “Even if you took a horse, you wouldn’t get out of the castle grounds.”

  “I doubt I could even climb on a horse at the moment.” Alden said.

  “He hurt you. I heard that he had.” David sighed heavily and scratched his head. ‘I could try and get a message to Bors; he might be able to help.”

  “Then do it.”

  “Right.” David glanced at the barrel he had put on the floor. “You are going to have to stay here. Don’t touch that.” He pointed at the barrel. “It is foul bitter wine, tastes awful.”

  “Stolen wine usually does.” Alden said.

  David gave a look which clearly said he had no idea what Alden was talking about and climbed back up the ladder. He swung the trapdoor shut and darkness closed around them again.

  “He must really like you,” Annis said. “Why is he locking us in again?”