Page 15 of Winter’s Poison (The Winter Murders #1)

A ll was lost and Bronwyn knew it. That day should’ve been a feast day, for it was the feast of the purification of St. Mary. And yet she was filled with dread.

The guards came down to deliver breakfast, day-old bread rolls and stale ale. “Gifts from upstairs,” one said, passing them rolls and filling their cups with ale.

Bronwyn’s stomach had been growling for ages. She’d been lifting a roll to her mouth and paused. The outside was covered with crumbled-up mushrooms. She dropped the roll. “Where did these come from?”

“Brother Bartholomew. Why?”

She glanced over and her father had a roll half in his mouth, about to bite down. “Papa, no!” She lunged at him, knocking him to the ground, along with the ale and bread.

“Bronwyn!” he cried out as the guards threatened them with violence for causing a fuss.

“Don’t eat it. It’s poisoned,” she said, tossing the roll away.

“What? Oh. You mean…” He glanced at the roll, now being feasted on by two rats.

“Poison mushrooms,” she said. “A little gift from Brother Bartholomew.” She looked back at the guards. “Could we have some more ale?”

The guards shook their heads. “You spilled it, you lose it.” They walked on, noses in the air.

She let out a small sigh. Both their cups of ale had spilled. There was not even a drop left.

The church bells rang, signaling the start of Mass. But within the hour, the peace was shattered by shouts, the thunder of horses’ hooves, the call of battle trumpets and horns, and the clash of spears and swords.

The guards at the dungeon entrance cried out and were quickly subdued, their cries renting the air. Bronwyn and her father stood by, tense, watching from the shadows, their eyes wide. In moments, the imprisoned knights had escaped the cells, shouting and hollering, cheering and laughing as one by one, they were let out. Following William de Roumare, one paused before Bronwyn and her father’s cell.

“Leave them. The king was going to hang them anyway. The good brother told me of her meddling about in our plans. Let ’em rot,” de Roumare said.

She gazed at him with quiet stoicism but said nothing. As much as she wanted out of the cell, she did not want to be within arm’s reach of the men. They were warriors, fighters, hungry and hard, and each was bigger and stronger than her.

The knights left, and she let out a small sigh of relief. The sounds of battle raged, and her father paced the small space of the cell, looking up every time there was another loud crash of noise. Then he paused. “You were right.”

“About what?”

He pointed. There in the corner of the cell, lay the two rats who’d eaten his breakfast roll.

The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine.

They were interrupted later by the sounds of footsteps hurrying down the spiral staircase. “Bronwyn? Bronwyn? Are you there?” a voice called.

“Alice?” Bronwyn went to the bars, gripping the cold iron. “Alice?”

She came darting down the steps, her face wild. “Thank God you’re alive. Uh, how do I get you out of here?”

“Who are you?” Bronwyn’s father wandered up to the bars.

Alice glanced and rolled her eyes, glancing at his dirty appearance with her upper lip almost curling into a sneer. “I’m sorry, but I’m here for her. Now, Bronwyn, we have to get you out.”

“That’s my father you’re talking to,” she said.

“Fine. Hello, I am Lady Alice. We have to get out of here, now.” She held up a knife. “I thought this could help open the lock somehow.” She tried forcing the lock, but a moment later, let out a grunt in exasperation.

“Alice, why are you here?”

“It’s chaos up there. At Mass, we were all present when the king accepted a candle and it broke apart in his hands, into three pieces. People were shocked and some say it is a bad omen. But that’s not the worst of it. The Empress Maud’s men are here, outside, this very minute.”

Bronwyn tensed.

“The monks begged for King Stephen to aim for peace, to negotiate, have peace talks, but his knights and men at arms urged him to fight, so he’s taken his knights out there, beyond the castle, to face Robert of Gloucester’s men.” She paused. “Rupert is out there.”

“But, Alice, why aren’t you with the empress’s forces?”

An unhappy look flitted across her face. A second later, she said, “You’re my maidservant. I need you.”

“Alice, what about the guards? How did you get past them?”

“They’re…” She swallowed. “They’re dead. Someone killed them. I think there was something wrong, because the rats are dead too. There are some bread rolls next to them.” She shivered.

“Brother Bartholomew,” Bronwyn said grimly. “Alice, can you look on their persons and see if they have keys to the cells?”

“Me? No. I’d have to touch dead bodies. I couldn’t. Can’t you do it?”

She cocked her head and gave Alice a look.

Alice gave a long-suffering sigh. “The things I do. All right, but you owe me for this.” She left and there was some scuffling, a squeal or two, and she came back, wiping her hands on her dress.

“What’s happened upstairs? Is everyone all right?” Bronwyn asked.

“No. It’s all gone to hell,” Alice said, trying one key after another. “The Earl of Chester has arrived with his forces, including his father-in-law, Robert of Gloucester, the empress’s right-hand man. You may not remember, but his daughter is the young Lady Maud, who is being held here as a sort of political prisoner amongst the ladies.”

“I remember.”

“Well, they’ve come and they don’t care who has sided with whom. They’re killing everyone in their sight. It is horrible.” Alice’s face was pale as she tried another key. “These men have lost their minds. They’re slaughtering everyone. Nowhere is safe.”

“But I thought you were loyal to the empress,” Bronwyn said.

“I am. But right now, I’m more concerned with saving my own hide, and yours.” She gave the key a hard turn and with a satisfying noise, it unlocked the door. “There. Now are you going to just lounge around in that cell all day or are you coming with me?”

In seconds, Bronwyn and her father were out. Her father clutched her arm and said, “We must hurry.”

But he was weak. Together, the three of them made it up the spiral, stone staircase and into the corridor, when Alice stopped. “What do we do? It’s not safe.”

“We have to get out of the castle and back into the city. It’s our only hope of escape,” Bronwyn’s father said.

“How?”

Bronwyn picked up a sword from a fallen knight. “This should help. Let’s stay together.”

Together, they dashed past servants, hurried past ladies and through the downstairs areas into the kitchens, where there was a back entrance for deliveries. Farther along it led to an open courtyard, but if a person wasn’t in service, they might not have known the way. Having worked in the kitchens, Bronwyn did.

She spied potboys and scullery hands hiding, and even Odo trembling in a corner. “Go, go. Get out of here,” he said, seeing them. “Go and God help ye.”

They hurried past when they were stopped by Brother Bartholomew, who stood by with two guards. He jabbed his finger in the air. “Get them! They’re traitors!”

The guards rushed at them. Alice and Bronwyn’s father fled. Bronwyn held out her sword when Odo lunged at one of the guards with a small cooking spit, impaling the man to the wall.

Bronwyn screamed and fell back. The other guard slipped and fell on the wooden floor, now slick with blood and mud, and fell on her. She yelped and scrambled to fight back, shoving and pushing, when she realized he did not move. His eyes were open and his mouth hung ajar when it hit her, the man was dead.

She remembered then she was holding a sword in her hands. He’d fallen on it and died. Blood was spilling onto her dress. She grunted and shoved the dead guard off, giving the sword a stiff yank. It was stuck, seemingly fixed in place by the man’s blood. Putting her weight into it, she tugged and finally pulled the blade from his body.

She looked up to see Odo facing the traitorous monk. Odo was bigger, stronger, and wider than the religious man, and he glared at him with a face closer to hell than a happy baker. “You and your interfering ways. You ruined everything. I never thought I’d lay a hand on a man of God, but I might make an exception for you. Get out of here before I run you through,” he said.

Kitchen boys came up behind him, armed with forks, knives, and rolling pins. Brother Bartholomew fled.

Bronwyn let out a sigh. “Thank you.”

Odo gave a nod. “That way is full of fighters. You’d best go out the privy.”

“What?”

Alice and her father caught up to her. “Are you all right?” Alan asked.

“I’m fine. But Odo says that way is too dangerous. He says we should…”

“Go out the privy,” Odo confirmed. “It’ll take you out the back way and no one will see you.”

Alice balked at this. “I am a lady. You expect me to go down…”

“Go to the garderobe down the hall and out the hole. You’ll fall into the cesspit and can get out that way.”

“But we’ll be covered in filth. It’s called a cesspit for a reason,” Alice said.

“Would you prefer to take your chances up here?” Odo asked.

Alice made an unhappy noise in her throat and said in a resigned voice, “Lead the way.”

Odo took up the cooking spit and with a courageous cook or two, led the group down the corridor and to the garderobe, which was little more than a wooden shelf above a hole that stank.

He lifted up the shelf, his voice strained. “You should be able to squeeze through.”

“But we’re high up off the ground. We could die,” Alice said.

“You’ll die if you stay here.”

“I can’t. I’m afraid of heights. No. I can’t do it.”

He faced her. “My lady, you either go out that hole or you can stay in the kitchens and wait to see if the new masters will keep you alive or kill you. They will always have need of a servant. Do they need you ?”

Alice’s mouth opened in indignation and then shut. She turned to Bronwyn, “You go first.”

Bronwyn turned toward the garderobe hole, when her father first climbed through. He was slim and was in desperate need of a bath, but they all would be, considering the means of their escape. He climbed through and was out without a sound.

“Oh, my god,” Bronwyn said.

“Sweet Jesus,” Alice said. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“Come on, Alice. We’ll go together.”

“Ew, no.”

Bronwyn took her hand. “Help me down.” She climbed through and bracing herself against the sides, feeling damp, stone cold and wet with urine and the smell of dried and wet refuse against her dress, she said, “One thing.”

“What?” Alice asked.

“About that squire you like.”

“Yes, what about him? This isn’t really the time,” she said.

“There’s something you should know. I…”

“He doesn’t have another admirer, does he? I have a very jealous nature.”

Bronwyn stopped what she was about to say. There would be time to tell Alice later how she felt. “You’ll have to come with and find out.” Bronwyn reached for her hand but missed and slipped down the hole, sailing down to the cesspit below.

She landed with an awful splash, and it was as foul and disgusting as one might imagine. She inhaled mouthfuls of liquid refuse and coughed up breaths stinking of urine. She clawed and breathed, breathing in wet bubbles of filth, scrambling for air as she floated in a puddle. Finally, she got her head above it and coughed and hacked, retching as she spat and breathed in mouthfuls of sweet air.

A moment later, Alice screamed shrilly and landed with an almighty splash into the pit nearby, sending a small wave of the foul-smelling muck to hit Bronwyn in the face.

Fortunately, it was not very deep, and once they’d coughed, retched, and climbed out, with the help of her father, Bronwyn looked up. They must have fallen about twenty feet into the muck. It was wet and soft in the worst way and had cushioned their fall, sort of. The three of them stank and were covered with all sorts of refuse she did not want to name.

Alice coughed. “That dirty rat pushed me! I’ll have his guts for garters. The sorry fool.” She cursed the entire way as Alan helped her out.

They were on the other side of the castle, toward the back, away from the fighting, but still needed to go around and down the hill to make their way from the city. They emerged and ran from the castle courtyard and out, back through the city. It was chaos.

Fires roared, thatch rooves burned and crumbled, wattle and wooden structures crashed, sending sparks and shafts of wood into the streets. Smoke filled the air, men-at-arms marched, and men on horseback rode through the crowd of people. There were people everywhere, crowding around, stinking of sweat and urine and fear, terror etched on their faces as they fell into a mass crowd and kept moving.

Alice trembled and they held hands, along with Alan, who stayed close. “Let’s go to the shop. I want to find your mother and Wyot,” he said.

Bronwyn clutched his hand. “What if I lose you again?”

“You won’t. We didn’t come all this way to be parted.” He stroked her cheek, despite the filth that was there.

How wrong he was. They held hands as long as possible, but the push and shove of the crowd soon separated them. Bronwyn cried out for her father, but he was gone in the crush of people. Alice and she clung to each other as they were swept out in the mass of people, almost like a wave, and then they were out on the streets, running, stumbling, picking each other up and trudging down Steep Hill, almost like they were drunk. They kept moving, for not to move was to court death, and death was on the hunt that day.

Bronwyn started to recognize her surroundings and pulled Alice aside, as more people shoved and ran past. People looted shops, others ran, carrying anything they could hold in their arms. She saw mothers run past with children clinging to their backs, men bearing whatever weapons they could, and children hiding in the shadows, some so young as to be clueless as to the danger that had befallen the fair city.

They made it to her family’s shop and Bronwyn banged on the door, pounding on it. “Mama! Mama, let me in!”

But as the door gave way, she saw they were too late. Mama, Wyot—they were gone. And Papa wasn’t here yet. The place was abandoned.

“Now what do we do?” Alice asked.

“I don’t know.” She shut the door and locked it for a moment, thinking.

“We need a plan,” Alice said.

“I know.”

“We need to do something. It’s not safe here. I saw the knights a few streets away. They’re coming closer. They were burning shops, with torches.”

“Right.” Bronwyn looked around her family home. Would it, too, fall beneath fiery destruction today?

She quickly glanced at the room. There were a few cooked bread rolls. “Come here. Put these in your dress.”

“What?” Alice said as she gave her three rolls.

“Just do it,” Bronwyn said, stuffing some into my dress.

“I’ve already swum in feces today. What more can I do? Might as well hold food to my body like some tradeswoman.” Alice said, stuffing the rolls in. “Now can we go?”

“I hear voices inside,” a man said outside the door. “Women.”

“Open up! In the name of the empress!” a man said, pounding on the door.

“Don’t open it. They’ll kill us!” Alice hissed.

Bronwyn pulled her hand and dragged her over to the oven. She placed a hand to its surface. It was cool. Whatever plans Margaret had meant for it that morning had been stopped by the battle outside.

“No. No. They’re burning down houses and you want me to climb in an oven ? Are you mad?”

More banging on the front door. It shook and rattled in its frame.

“They’ll never look here.” Bronwyn tugged her hand.

“No. Absolutely not. I refuse.”

“You can refuse to die too, but I don’t think they’ll listen,” Bronwyn said, meeting her eyes.

Fists banged the door, rattling it. The men then took swords and axes to it, chipping the wood. Smoke drifted through the cracks, seeping into the shops. Buildings were burning outside.

“Come on.” Bronwyn pulled her to the massive oven and Alice pushed back. “No.”

“Fine.” Bronwyn hid in the oven and pulled the sliding panel closed. She’d shut herself in darkness, and felt ashes coat her refuse-covered clothes. She heard a rustling and then quiet, just as the sound of splintering wood and loud noises came through.

“Where are they? There were voices in here,” one man said.

“I thought I heard a woman,” another said.

Bronwyn bit the inside of her cheek. Where had Alice gone? Would she be found?

“Search for them. Look. There’s a trap door in the floor. They’re probably hiding down there.”

Bronwyn heard the men pull open the door in the floor, leading to an ordinary storeroom.

She didn’t move. Quiet as a mouse, she waited as the men rustled through the shop, knocking things over, kicking things.

“It stinks like bread and a cesspit. Never thought a bakery would smell this bad,” one man said.

“People probably used it as a privy.”

The men talked a few minutes more. Bronwyn held her breath, breathing so quietly, she barely made a sound.

Then a sneeze.

“What was that?” a man said.

“Somebody sneezed. Find out who.”

The men scouted around, when one said, “Well, look what I found.”

“No! Let me go!” Alice cried. “Let go of my arm. Do you know who I am?”

Bronwyn’s hands curled into fists. Alice had been caught. What to do? Would they hurt her?

“No, but I’m looking forward to knowing you better. What do you say, boys?” a man jeered.

“Yaaah!” a man shouted. “Get away from her!”

“Who’s this?”

The men fought against a new foe as Bronwyn slid the oven panel aside.

One of the men said, “What the—?” and she charged at them like a feces-covered spirit.

The men were all fighting. Alice jerked away and ran to Bronwyn’s side. Bronwyn picked up one of the long, wooden peels with a flat, shelf-like side and brandished it like a weapon.

Alice stared at the newcomer. “Rupert?”

He looked up.

Alice gripped Bronwyn’s shoulders. “He’s here. He’s come to rescue me.”

There were three men facing Rupert. He held a sword with both hands like he knew how to use it, but Bronwyn decided to even those odds. She took the peel and tripped one of the men, tangling the pole in his legs. He fell and dropped his sword.

Alice quickly picked it up and held it aloft. “Don’t move!” she said. “Don’t or I’ll run you through.”

The man looked up from the flat of his back and laughed, getting up. “I’m not afraid of two women.”

Bronwyn jabbed his stomach with the pole. “Don’t move.”

The man coughed and sneered at them, as Rupert took on the other two. Bronwyn didn’t dare look up, keeping her gaze trained on the man on the floor, watching for any sudden moves.

“Why are you two covered in muck?” he asked. “You stink.”

Alice lifted her chin slightly. “We fell in a cesspit. What’s your excuse?”

A corner of Bronwyn’s mouth curled in a grin as she waited for the man to realize he’d been insulted. She mentally counted the seconds. One… two… three…

The man on the floor got up and approached, menace written on his features.

Alice backed up. “Don’t come any closer.” Her voice trembled.

The man gave her a leering smile. “Come here, pretty girl. Mud or not, I’ll—”

Bronwyn jabbed him in the stomach with the peel, then again in the balls. He grunted and clutched his crotch, stumbling to his knees.

“Ha!” Alice said. “Take that!”

Rupert was doing all right against the others, but not amazing, for it was two against one. Bronwyn smacked one in the back of his head and he fell like a stone.

Alice dropped the sword she held and ran into Rupert’s arms. “Oh, Rupert, you were wonderful. Thank you. You saved our lives.”

Rupert’s eyes widened at suddenly having his arms full of Alice, and he awkwardly put a hand around her back. He looked at Bronwyn, wrinkled his nose, and said, “You both really stink.”

Alice hugged him tighter.

“You don’t want to know,” she said.

“We need to leave. It’s not safe here,” he said.

The man who’d been hit in the balls groaned.

Bronwyn said, “Alice, let’s go.”

Alice managed to somehow look up at Rupert, even though they were the same height. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

He shook his head. “No.” He led her out by the hand, or rather, she clutched his hand and refused to let go, Bronwyn noticed.

It bothered her, seeing them holding each other like a courting couple. An angry, ugly feeling sprouted inside her, like a nasty weed. She wanted to feel for Alice, but instead just felt annoyed she was touching Rupert. Like she owned him, almost. Maybe Bronwyn would never have a chance with Rupert. Not when a lady like Alice showed interest.

Bronwyn took one last look at her family’s shop and holding the sword, followed them out into the road.

The sky was grey and dim with smoke. Fires roared and the buildings held an unholy, orange light as wood, wattle, and daub walls and thatch rooves burned steadily. People yelled and cried, running.

Bronwyn followed Rupert and Alice as closely as she could, but it was like walking through a hailstorm. People ran and shoved, and at every step she was pushed, nudged, bumped, sometimes brushed and even knocked past. It was dangerous and she felt cold inside, despite the warmth of all the bodies pressed around her in a tight knot, each trying to escape the hell that was Lincoln’s streets.

They ran, dashed, and moved with the crowd, until they exited the main city and faced the Fosse Dyke, but Bronwyn stopped dead in her tracks. The waters of the dyke glittered in the sun, bearing boats.

“Look, there’re boats! We can escape.” Alice pointed.

“Wait. Stop,” Bronwyn said, dragging Alice and Rupert over to stand by a wall as people dashed past. Some fled without even stopping, not even caring as they ran.

“Why did you make us stop?” Alice asked.

“Look.”

There were boats floating in the river, a few skiffs. But they were already crowded with people and the crew was trying to set off, waving people away. It didn’t matter. The people of the city were so terrified, they fled, casting all cares aside as they ran for their lives. The people flooded the streets like water, the crowd was so massive. Bronwyn had never seen anything like it before.

This was more than a crowd, or a bunch of people celebrating at a feast day. It was worse than a mob, more tightly packed. It was grim. It was a dead weight. And the ships couldn’t take it for much longer.

They watched as people cried the boats were full, to stay away, but their cries fell on deaf ears. For every man, woman, and child who stood on the skiffs, dozens ran, pushing and shoving to take their place. It was horrifying as soon, people overloaded the boats and even more jumped on as the boats cast off, floating so heavily, and the ships began to….

“They’re sinking,” Alice said, her eyes wide. She clung to Rupert as the boats’ wooden hulls groaned, creaked, and eventually sank, with hundreds of people on them. “Oh, God.” She hid her face against Rupert’s chest and he put an arm around her as she trembled with fear.

Rupert touched Bronwyn’s shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but their eyes met, and something passed between them. A feeling of sadness, understanding—maybe something more. They had survived a siege together, but a horrid feeling sat in Bronwyn’s chest, tight, making it hard to breathe. She wanted to go home to her pallet in her family’s shop and go to bed. But that was no longer an option. Not anymore. Was this just the beginning? Would life ever be the same again?

The terrified moans and ragged cries of people dragged her attention from his face. Bronwyn couldn’t look away. Hundreds of poor souls met their maker that day, and as warm tears coursed down her stained face, all she could do was watch, hope, and whisper a prayer to God that her family wasn’t amongst them.