Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [397]
But Jordan now was a man, and made his own decisions. He continued to run. He continued to run until the elder Jordan, rearing behind him, slammed him into the ground with the great tumbling mass of his body, and pinned him there, helpless beneath him. Then the rags of Applegarth’s army ran past without pausing, for the ground had started to shake and the distant drumming of hooves had turned into low thunder. At the same moment, the men grasping Nicholas loosed him and ran, their booty clutched in their arms.
Prospero’s voice said, ‘Is he alive? Oh, dear God.’
‘Pray for him,’ Nicholas said, and got up and went to his son.
The arrows had stopped, but the ground between the walls and the Priory was still dangerous with running men, slashing at anything in their fear and frustration. The torches had mostly burned out, but you could still see, among the brown and red slush, the bodies of the men the archers had killed, and of the two nuns. The Priory door had been closed, against refugees this time, instead of marauders. Jordan, half pulled free from the old man, was gasping, ‘I’m all right. Are you all right? You’re not going? You don’t have to go?’ And then: ‘Is he dead?’
Nicholas glanced across, and said, ‘Yes.’
‘No. I know. Is Monseigneur dead?’ Jordan said. ‘They shot an arrow at me.’
The old man’s eyes were closed. There was no sign of an arrow, but there was a bloody tear where it had been. Nicholas eased his son from below him, and bent to look at the wound. The old man opened his eyes. ‘I shall survive. Take the youth away. He has been quite feckless enough. Where is your Nordic friend?’
‘Over there,’ Nicholas said. Crackbene was standing, now. Of those who had come out, no one had died but Adorne. With a silent gasp of internal anguish, he remembered Kathi.
The old man said, ‘What is this company that frightened them off?’ They were very close now. Beyond the wall, most of Applegarth’s men had now gone, running and galloping.
Nicholas said, ‘I don’t know. Friends, I hope. I have to go inside. Can you manage?’
‘I’ll help him,’ said Crackbene. ‘Jordan can lend me a hand. Was that Adorne?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas. ‘They thought we had cheated them. They probably meant to kill us both anyway.’
‘It’s the end of Albany,’ Crackbene said. ‘Whether he knew about it or not; that’s the end of him.’
IN THE CELLAR, the change in sound was odd enough to cause Kathi to put out the candle and attempt, by opening one shutter, to see beyond the bars into the precinct. The air outside was raw, and she shivered. Rankin, lucky Rankin, had fallen asleep.
She had been prepared for the reduction in shouting, once the surrender had been accepted. She had been prepared for the ironic cheer, which must have accompanied the appearance of her uncle and Nicholas. She expected a pause, while they were mounted and taken away, and then a period during which the troop collected its weapons and dead and prepared to depart in an orderly manner. Instead, there seemed no order at all, but a hubbub, as if some disaster had happened. There would have been no such reaction had her uncle and Nicholas been killed, which was the other pattern of sounds she had been waiting for. There would have been, her imagination told her, an abashed silence followed by jeering. That hadn’t happened. Then, very soon, she heard the reason for the dismay, which was the sound of a large troop approaching.
That was when she opened the shutter and saw men running, and realised that the intruders were going. Then someone screamed, and she knew the voice: Jordan’s. A pause; and then from several voices she picked out others. Crackbene. And Nicholas. Nicholas was there. The attackers were leaving, and Nicholas