A noise behind him made him grab his weapon again and he had a sensation of panic as he thought it might be the lions. To be caught in such a confined space by Romulus and Remus would be a nightmare.
Escape would be unthinkable and his dying cries would go unheard.
He had a vision of Golde, waking to find the bed beside her empty, going demented when she saw his blood-stained remains hauled out of the tunnel. It made him hurry back the way he had come.
There was nobody there and his confidence quickly seeped back.
Stopping beside the chest once more, he ran a meditative hand over it before continuing on to the steps. He never thought he would be so grateful to climb back into a lions’ cage but he did so with a sigh of relief. Setting down his candle, he used both hands to lower the trapdoor into position and slide the bolts home.
The candle saved his life. As its flame danced violently in the sudden displacement of air, he was given a split-second warning of the attack.
Someone had charged up on him from behind. When a coil was thrown around his neck, Ralph instinctively put up his hands to work his fingers inside it. His assailant was strong and determined. The noose tightened inexorably. The man put his knee in the small of Ralph’s back to apply even more pressure.
There was a dagger in his belt but it was out of reach. Ralph needed both hands to prevent the breath from being squeezed out of him. He tugged at the coil but it was cutting into his fingers. Ralph knew that he was up against Tanchelm’s assassin. The man had killed before with vicious effectiveness but he did not have a sitting target this time. Ralph was more powerful and resourceful than Tanchelm of Ghent.
Throwing his legs out in front of him, Ralph dropped to the floor and pulled his assailant down after him. The suddenness of the move deprived the man of his grip and Ralph was able to tear the noose away. But the escape was only temporary. As Ralph rolled over, the man dived on top of him to grip his throat in both hands. A thumb seemed to burrow deep into Ralph’s windpipe and he began to choke.
Punching at the man with one hand, he used the other to grasp the dagger and lunge upwards.
With a yell of pain, the man rolled away, knocking over the candle and extinguishing its pale flame. Ralph had wounded him in the side but it only served to inflame the attacker and he came hurtling out of the darkness. Trying to rise from the floor, Ralph was knocked flying again and the weapon spun out of his hand. Powerful arms enfolded him once more and the men grappled wildly, threshing about in the rushes as they sought for the hold that would end the contest.
His adversary squeezed, punched, scratched, gouged and even bit him in an attempt to subdue him but the advantage had been shifted now. Ralph had superior strength and a greater surge of purpose. A fight that had lasted for several long minutes was over in an instant.
As they grappled once more, Ralph flipped him onto his stomach, put a knee in his back, then used both hands to pull back his head. There was a loud crack and the man’s neck broke.
Ralph clambered up and stood panting over his opponent. He needed no light to identify the man. The would-be assassin was Ludovico, the keeper of the beasts. His chosen weapon was the whip that had strangled Tanchelm of Ghent.
Olaf Evil Child had never had a decision challenged before and it embittered him. Men who owed their lives to his leadership were now daring to contest it. What caused him the most pain was the fact that Eric, his closest friend, was now speaking against him. The giant waved a massive fist.
“We will not go, Olaf!” he announced.
“But it is for our own good, Eric.”
“I will surrender to nobody!”
“Nor me!” said a voice.
And a dozen more rushed to endorse its affirmation.
They were seated around the campfire at night. Olaf looked at them with disgust. Living as nomads had bonded them strongly together and taught them how much they relied on each other. Each man brought his own skills to the band but it was Olaf who had turned those individual skills to the best use. Without his guidance, they would never have survived so long. It was time to remind them of their obligations to him.
“Who brought you all together?” he demanded.
“You did,” said Eric.
“Who fed you and watered you? Who planned our raids? Who kept us out of reach of every search party that ventured out of York in pursuit of us?”
“You did,” repeated Eric.
“And was my advice sound?”
“Very sound.”
“So why ignore it now?”
“Because it smacks of weakness.”
“Weakness!” He leapt to his feet. “If anyone thinks that I am weak, let him test me here and now. That includes you, Eric. I am ready.
Who will be first?”
Embarrassed muttering broke out among the men. None of them responded to his challenge. Most looked away. Eric wiped the back of his hand across his lips.
“Nobody doubts your bravery,” he conceded.
“Thank you, Eric!”
“We all saw what you did to my lord Nigel.”
“I am glad that someone has remembered at last.”
“But we will not go into York with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because we are outlaws.”
“With a chance of pardon.”
“From Normans?” Eric was contemptuous. “Never! They will hang us first and pardon us afterwards.” Murmurs of general agreement went up. “You heard my lord Nigel. He would have cut you down without a second thought. They are all the same.”
“Gervase Bret is not.”
“He is only one man among many.”
“He gave us his word, Eric.”
“What use is that in a city as big as York? He carries no weight there. I’ll not put my future in the hands of a man with a bandage around his head.”
“Will nobody come with me?” pleaded Olaf.
“Yes,” said Ragnar Longfoot. “I will.”
“Then you are as mad as Toki,” said Eric.
Ragnar bridled. “Toki was the bravest man alive.”
“He was a hothead who threw that life away,” countered Eric. “Do you think we want to end up like him, Ragnar? No! I would rather feed off vermin out here than get eaten by lions in York.”
“Then you are a fool!” accused Olaf. “Feed off vermin and you become vermin.”
“At least we will stay alive.”
“Roaming the wilderness? Stealing to survive? It has been bad enough already, Eric. How much worse will it be when winter settles in?” He made a last appeal. “That is a time when we need a roof over our heads and warm food in our bellies. When we need to be with our families.”
He walked across to crouch in front of Eric. “Gervase Bret has offered us a chance. A slim one, I grant you. And, yes, there are many dangers involved. But I am ready to trust him.”
“I am not, Olaf,” said his friend.
“Will you not trust me?”
“Not this time.”
He searched the faces around the campfire.
“Ragnar is with me,” he said. “Who else?”
Not a single voice was heard. Olaf was deeply hurt.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “We are done. You can stay here while I go to York to fight for my inheritance. If I die, you can all sneer at Olaf Evil Child and say how stupid he was. But if I win my land back-and yours, too, for you have been dispossessed-do not come snivelling to me with your thanks and your congratulations. I will not even hear you.” He untethered his horse from a bush and swuns himself up into the saddle. “Gervase Bret is only one man, it is true. But he had the courage to come looking for me without a troop of soldiers at his back.
I will now go in search of him.”
Olaf kicked his horse into a trot and rode out of the camp. Limping across the grass, Ragnar Longfoot mounted his own horse and went after him. By the light of the fire, Eric and the others looked at each other shamefacedly. Their leader had just turned his back on them.