A Lady Under Siege - By B.G. Preston Page 0,17
snugly. Hidden under the hem she wore her best sabetynes, for she knew she was likely to be put upon a horse, and her feet would show.
Kent watched as she reached the first knot of soldiers. One of them let out a shout, and now all the others were running toward her. They quickly surrounded her, engulfed her, and lifted her like a trophy upon their shoulders. The mass of men that skittered toward him looked like a giant centipede, and she its unwilling fairy rider. The men delivered her straight to him, dropped her delicately at his feet, then retreated a pace or two, catching their breaths, waiting eagerly to see and hear what would come next. Whatever words were about to be spoken would be repeated around hearths and hunting fires for many years to come, and take on the quality of legend.
Sylvanne had dropped to one knee on being lowered by the men, but quickly regained her feet and her composure, straightening her clothing and hair. To Kent she looked flushed, severe, and altogether lovely.
“You’ve made this the happiest day of my life, Madame. Are you hungry? Fetch bread and cheese for the Lady!”
“I’ve come to negotiate terms,” she said.
“Eat first.”
In short order a soldier handed her bread and cheese on a wooden board. The smell of it almost made her faint, and despite herself, she succumbed to hunger and ripped at the food like an animal.
“Slowly, slowly,” Kent warned. “Your stomach will be slow to stretch, I reckon.”
“And some for my maid. Mabel! Mabel!”
Mabel pushed her way through the circle of men.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Give her food also. And water for us both.”
“Of course. Of course. Whatever the Lady requires.”
She looked challengingly at the gawking men who surrounded her.
“Privacy while I feed,” she said.
A small tent was brought and erected for her. She and Mabel sat on the ground. A cooked chicken in an earthenware bowl was offered through the tent flap, reminding her of the way prisoners are fed in a jail. Sylvanne ate slowly and deliberately, but Mabel attacked it with gusto, wiping fat from her lips with her sleeve, and dropping the bones into the bowl. “My jaw aches from chewing,” she grinned. “But my stomach aches most happily.”
The tent flap was pulled aside and Kent entered.
“Are we ladies sated?” he asked.
“Oh yes Sir, I never tasted a bird so fine,” Mabel chirped eagerly. She dropped her smile when she noticed Sylvanne glaring at her.
“Good then,” said Kent. “We’ll set out immediately. It’s two days steady walk to the castle of my Lord and Master Thomas. Given your condition, and the suffering you’ve endured, we’ll mount you aboard careful, steady horses. M’Lady, you’ll have mine, and I’ll walk beside.”
“But I’m not leaving,” Sylvanne said defiantly. “I came out to negotiate, not be carried away like plunder. Why should I go to your Master? He should come to me.”
“I’m afraid grave domestic concerns keep him home, m’Lady. And if I may say, negotiation takes place between equals. I have an army of two hundred behind me, and you have a maid with chicken grease on her chin. I have orders to deliver you alive and healthy, and you have no say in the matter.”
Sylvanne rose to her feet and attempted to brush past him out of the tent. Kent stepped aside and allowed her to go. Once outside, the sunshine hit her eyes like a blast of fire. She staggered dizzily, disoriented. A sea of peasant faces closed in around her, mostly ugly unshaven men, with a few curious boys among them. An older man called her deary, another asked gruffly, “Where do yer think yer goin?” She heard Kent’s voice behind her.
“M’Lady! You’re weakened from the siege. You need more rest and nourishment. Please accept your circumstances.”
The circle of faces tightened around her, and she felt hands take hold of her arms. She pulled free, then collapsed unconscious onto the trampled grass.
WHEN SHE CAME TO her senses she was curled up, joggled and jolted, amid sacks full of oats in the back of a rough two-wheeled cart pulled by a dray horse. She was still dressed in her finery, although the green of her gown was now dulled by a coat of dust. Ahead she saw Kent and a dozen mounted horsemen, to her rear came the two hundred soldiers afoot, with Mabel perched unsteadily upon a single horse. The rein was held by a fat oafish fellow walking alongside gingerly, as if there were