Текст книги "The butcher of Avignon"

Автор книги: Cassandra Clark

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The young retainers, pages and esquires alike, were expected to bed down close to their lord to be on hand should he require anything, at any time of the night. Edmund and his guild, however, had their secret places where they could keep out of everyone’s notice, meet their fellows, or simply have some time when they were free from being at everybody’s beck and call.

One of these hidden places was in the lee of a buttress high up under the carved stone ceiling of the Great Audience Chamber.

‘Audacious. How did you find such a niche?’ she asked when Peterkin conducted her there shortly after she left the prisoners.

‘The French pages showed us. We meet here to compare our respective situations.’ Peterkin, despite his sometimes impish manner, spoke with the gravitas of a churchman. She could easily see him taking holy orders.

He showed her a gap between the stone carvings. It was like the squint in a church where the priest could spy on his congregation. She looked down. It gave a view into the Great Audience Chamber but the observers, like a priest at the squint, were out of sight. It was a strange experience to be able to see the tops of the heads far below, tonsures, coloured hoods, hair flowing loose or cropped in punishing strictness.

She sought out Hubert de Courcy and found him, broad-shouldered in his white robes, flanked by his two companions, standing near the dais. ‘His supporters’ he had called them, one thick-set and alert, the other, tall and supple with, intriguingly, the strange watchfulness of a swordsman.

‘Very good,’ she remarked, filing her impressions away.

The floor of the secret hide was covered in straw and she imagined some of the boys would bed down here when they got the chance of a decent sleep.

‘This is the only place we will not be seen or overheard, domina. It’s important for us all that we are not known to be allies. I beg you listen to us.’

‘Are we allies?’ she asked.

Peterkin nodded. ‘I fervently hope so. We’re mightily troubled by the death of Maurice. We’re vowed to find his killer.’

‘How can I help?’

‘We know you attend Lord Athanasius. He has eyes and ears throughout the palace of course.’

‘Of course?’

Peterkin looked surprised. ‘But you must know that? We hear he’s master of the foreign intelligencers which is why we’re somewhat puzzled that you show us some sympathy.’

A stillness came over the group.

‘Unless she’s a spy as well,’ interrupted a boy she had not noticed until now. He rose from his nest among the straw and stepped forward into the drizzle of light through the squint. He was a tall, handsome French boy, the one she had noticed tilting at the quintaine earlier. The one who had accepted Elfric’s challenge with such alacrity.

He gave her an adult and rather ironic shrug of the shoulders. ‘We know nothing about you, domina. These English innocents are driven by sentimentality.’

‘I doubt that. You should already know they can’t be taken in.’

‘If you mean their feints in the tilt yard I grant you, they’re shrewd enough, but this is a matter of deep cunning and we know nothing of you.’

‘And I know nothing of you. Sometimes trust is all we have.’

He nodded at this. ‘But we risk putting our lives in your hands if we admit too much. Even by inviting you here we’re in for serious punishment should our lords find out.’

‘I promise no word of this shall ever pass my lips,’ she told him, ‘nor find its way onto the written page either,’ she added when she saw him about to pick her words apart.

She glanced round. ‘Where is Edmund?’

‘He’s delayed by Sir Jack, told to redo some piddling task as usual.’

‘Shall we wait for him?’

‘He won’t be long.’

‘In return for any help I can offer you I would ask your help in return.’ She bit her lip. It was maybe going too far to put such a burden on young shoulders after all.

Just then a shadow slipped in through the opening into the secret niche and Edmund flung himself on to the straw with a groan of frustration. His hand went automatically to his cheek as he looked round at the others and Hildegard saw a bruise already beginning to appear.

He noticed her and at once got to his feet and made a courtly flourish. His smile was grave. ‘Welcome, domina. Forgive my abrupt entrance. That man continues to enrage me.’

‘I’m honoured to be invited. I hope we may assuage your anger somehow.’

‘Your lady nun has offered her services in return for our help in some matter of her own,’ said the French boy.

‘Taillefer, may I remind you that the Cistercian Order is French and that we English find their presence in our country problematical?’ Peterkin went over and stretched up to push him on the shoulder in reproof. ‘If anyone should have doubts about a Cistercian nun, it should be us. But I pray you remember, not all monastics are painted in the same colours.’

‘Bien sur.’ Taillefer grinned, not at all contrite, and gave another of his expressive shrugs.

‘Boys, listen to me. Let’s not pick fights. What I can tell you is that Athanasius is determined to find the dagger that was in Maurice’s hand when he died. He believes it was stolen by the murderer and its whereabouts will lead us to him.’ She paused for a moment before adding, ‘I believe it’s the dagger that really concerns him.’

‘Valuable is it?’

‘So he suggests.’

‘Whether it is or not, he will not want the murderer’s identity broadcast around the palace,’ exclaimed Taillefer. ‘He’ll want to deal with the man himself in private.’

The English boys looked at him in alarm.

‘That’s the way things are done here,’ he warned them. ‘The old fellow will search him out and have him assassinated. All that will show he ever existed will be an empty space at table. And someone else will soon fill that.’

‘We’ll set out to find this dagger, then,’ said Edmnd.

‘And we’ll get to it first.’ Taillefer spoke with great firmness. ‘If it leads us to the murderer of our beloved friend Maurice we’ll emulate our lords and show the killer no mercy.’

Hildegard murmured something about the rule of law but Edmund was already affirming what Taillefer had said. ‘Why the magister wants it so desperately is nothing to us. We should definitely be the ones to find it and bring Maurice’s killer to justice.’

‘Consider it done, domina.’ This was Taillefer again. ‘We’ll assume the dagger has been stolen by the murderer. We’ll track it down and thus identify him. Then we’ll make him pay for his crime against us. So I make my vow.’

The boys gripped each other’s wrists, murmuring, I vow it.

‘Now,’ statesmanlike Taillefer turned to Hildegard. ‘What is the boon you ask of us?’

‘Again, it’s a matter of life and death.’

They gathered closer. Peterkin, Edmund, Taillefer, and Bertram with young Simon and Elfric beside him, all listened intently while she told them about the miners and unfolded her plan to set them free. Afterwards she warned them that they were at liberty to reject what she was asking of them and she would not lodge any blame with them. But even before the words were out they were offering their support.

‘For King Richard and the true commons!’ exclaimed Bertram. The others, including Taillefer, echoed him.

**

Before she left she stood at the squint with Edmund and looked down into the Great Audience Chamber, at Clement, in his malign magnificence. It was easy to see from this height how the dull-witted, the penitential and the superstitious could wish to hand over their moral destiny to such a figure.

Robed in scarlet velvet, gold encrusted, his triple crown on his head, and with powerful features, he looked convincingly omniscient. He seemed more than human, as if he could easily take all the crimes and petty sins his adherents had committed and absolve them of any need to make reparation.

They would be forgiven with the lift of one of his beringed fingers. He would smile on them, his faithful servants, and with that haughty disdain it would be like god himself taking them into his embrace.

Hildegard could not forget Cesena and the thousands slaughtered.

**

Edmund walked alongside her down the passage towards the guest quarters. ‘You have doubts about our ability to carry out the plan,’ he observed.

‘Is it obvious?’

‘A wisp of smoke, no more. I praise Sir Jack for making me sensitive to the slightest change in someone’s demeanour. Danger. My thumbs prick.’ He turned to her. ‘Tell me?’

‘My qualms are this. You are all so young. I know you will not see that as a problem. Indeed, you probably think the weak link is me, because I’m so old.’

He laughed. ‘Age, time. It’s natural for us to see anyone not of our years as either a baby whose babble is not worth considering, or as so old their ears are clogged with the world’s filth and their vision turned to fog. We stand between the two.’

‘Edmund, I am neither old nor clogged with filth or fog.’

‘I beg your pardon, domina. I would except you from that judgement. I meant only men like Sir Jack. It was the worst of sweeping judgments, the sort we make without thinking – until we think.’

Edmund had clearly spent a lot of time at the royal court. It made him both too world wise and somehow too innocently idealistic.

‘I see the need to free those two prisoners clearly enough, whether I’m fogged up or not,’ Hildegard continued. ‘But I fear I’m asking too much of you. I fear for you. I cannot promise that this will not be a dangerous undertaking. Things can so easily go wrong. You could suffer.’

‘We’re eager to engage. And besides, what alternative do you have but to include us? Where else can you find help in a place like this? And, like you, we cannot sit by and let Englishmen suffer the agony of torture at the hands of Clement’s inquisitors. And remember also,’ he continued before she could interrupt, ‘we have the guiding star of immortal Prince Edward ever before us.’

‘Prince Edward?’

‘Our king’s illustrious war lord father who took his first command at the age of fourteen during the glorious battle of Crecy. Fourteen! I’m nearly seventeen,’ he added.

‘Still young.’

Ignoring that as superfluous he said, ‘When his father, old King Edward, saw his eldest son, England’s hope as he was then, surrounded by French foot soldiers keen to take him hostage, when the king’s own men begged to go to his aid, what did King Edward do? He turned to them and said, “He lives or dies by his own skill and courage. I will not intervene.” And the prince showed his bravery then, and won his spurs.’

‘I’m aware of all this.’

‘At fourteen,’ repeated Edmund with envy in his voice.

‘You speak with such longing for battle, Edmund. It is not the glorious contest you imagine. It’s brutal, merciless, and drags men down to the level of beasts. The worst of it is, you may get your wish before long. If the King’s Council has its way we shall be at war as soon as King Richard’s peace with France expires, and if not that, we’ll have civil war throughout our own land if Woodstock tries to take the throne.’

‘I fear it and long for it. The sword is clean and decisive. It has no ambiguities. I long for it personally,’ he added. ‘It will mean a quick end to my servitude to Fitzjohn when I get my spurs.’

‘That time will come. You know it.’

**

What Edmund said was true. Prince Edward, known to some as the Black Prince, had led his men to victory at Crecy. From there he had gone on to become the most famous commander in Europe. Only the tragedy of his premature death from a wasting disease had defeated him and left the crown to his ten year old son, Richard.

**

The seemingly endless waiting period before their plan could be put into action was the time between nones and vespers. Every second dragged. Hildegard went over the plan again in her head and tried to find loopholes. There were plenty of those. The whole thing seemed to be a folly based on the word ‘if.’

If the boys managed to get hold of the two hooded garments that would allow the prisoners to pass themselves off as mendicant friars, if the guards fell for the ruse planned for them, if John and Peter did not betray themselves by word or deed until they were safely outside papal jurisdiction. If the ferryman was as bribable as Taillefer suggested. If.

**

In the courtyard a gang of men had gathered in the waning light of the winter afternoon. Everyone, it seemed, who had been present in the petitioning sessions had poured out of the grim fortress of the papal palace to see what the excitement was about.

They stopped by on their way to vespers, on their way to the kitchens, to the sumpter yards, to whatever task was usually assigned to this part of the day, games of dice set aside, cards thrown down, and servants and guests and prelates, all came together with one aim, to see why the pages were causing such a commotion. A cardinal with a retinue of attendants even stopped for a moment on his way out of the palace to cross the bridge of Avignon to his estate in Villeneuve.

The excitement was caused by a pig’s bladder that had been inflated. Hildegard professed ignorance to her neighbour in the crowd and was told that the boys were having a battle with it, choristers against secularists.

It had started when a little freckled English boy had made some mocking remark about being able to sing better than any of these braying papal donkeys. As it could not be resolved in a singing contest, too dull, they had decided to have a kicking match with the pig’s bladder. Whoever managed to kick it against the walls most times would win and so prove or disprove the challenger’s point.

So far so good, thought Hildegard as she watched the match begin. In the milling crowd Edmund had been able to make his way over to the prison tower without drawing attention to himself. He was carrying a small though important looking scroll.

If he keeps to the plan he will now tell the guard that he has orders from Sir John Fitzjohn, the English knight, guest of his holiness, to obtain the signatures of his two prisoners. For what reason, he will say, he is sadly in ignorance, but it is hardly our concern is it? She imagined the exchange of confidential smiles.

The guard would not be able to read, or, if he could, it would only be with shaming slowness. He would wave Edmund through without a qualm.

From her vantage point across the yard, Hildegard saw Edmund speak to the guard as planned. He entered the tower. The guard positioned himself across the threshold with arms folded, his attention on the two yelling factions. The pig’s bladder rose in the air then disappeared under a scrum of bodies. The onlookers began to take sides.

A few moments later the guard went back into the tower as if called by duty.

The to-ing and fro-ing of the players pulled the crowd along with them, now swarming to one end of the yard, now to the other. The bladder smashed against the wall and Taillefer, the tallest of the secularists raised both fists with a roar of triumph. The game continued with even more spirit.

Eventually, three figures came out separately from the tower, quietly, with no sign of fuss or bother, and melted into the crowd over by the postern gate. Hildegard could see the helmets of the two guards on duty above the heads of the spectators. They were as avidly watching the match as everyone else. Excitement was whipped up by the violence of the two teams. They became locked in ever bloodier confrontation, neither side willing to yield. Pale choristers kicked and bit and punched with as much fervour as the pages. The crowd egged them on to draw blood. She saw the guards roaring encouragement to the choristers. Another faction cursed them and bawled advice to the pages and esquires. Threats were made.

In the commotion a shadowy figure slipped towards the postern and in a moment had vanished through the gate. Then she held her breath. One of the guards had turned back towards the guard house. Had he heard the gate open? He didn’t even glance at it but went inside the guard house instead, returning a moment later with two stoups. He handed one to his companion and their shouts to the players resumed.

Then she saw Edmund approach and say something to them. He was making a bet with them, she realised, as coins changed hands.

The nerve of the boy!

Now the men were more eagerly involved in the outcome than ever and with relief she spied another hooded mendicant peel away from the spectators and slip quickly through the gate.

She gave a sigh of relief. The first stage had been accomplished.

How long would it be before the prison guard was discovered? The plan had been to gag him so that his shouts would not be heard and he would not be found until the office after vespers when the night guard came on duty. That would give several hours in which Peter and John could get well away from the palace.

The bribable ferryman was a weak link but they had to trust that he would see them safely across the river and into French territory on the other bank.

The shouts of the players and the roar of the onlookers rang in her ears.

It had been almost too easy.

Her main fear had been that the guard would insist on searching Edmund and would have discovered the two long knives he carried, the bundle of robes stuffed under his tunic and the coil of twine wrapped round his wrists.

Another danger had been that the guard would notice when Edmund snatched the keys to the prisoner’s manacles from the hook on the wall at the bottom of the spiral steps. She had also feared that John would have been useless in overpowering the guard because of his hands, despite the gauntlets that Edmund had been told to pull from his own hands and slip over the miner’s wounded fingers as protection on the journey.

But Peter must have been as strong as she hoped, and with the advantage of surprise must have done a good job of overpowering the guard. Maybe even Edmund had helped. It might have taken both of them to truss the guard and gag him.

She closed her eyes and summoned St Serapion, protector of the kidnapped, to offer a small prayer of thanks and the hope that justice would prevail and the miners make good their escape into Aquitaine.

**

The light was almost gone but the boys played on. The spectators were refusing to leave until the final score was accounted. A couple of guards joined in, she noticed, and soon other men were elbowing the boys out of the way and turning the yard into a seething, yelling melee. The pig’s bladder rose and fell. Fights broke out which had nothing to do with the game in hand. When the bell for vespers clanged out, its sonorous notes reverberating between the grim walls, it went unheeded.

Three white clad figures appeared at the top of the steps of the guest wing as the sound of the bell decayed.

One of them pushed back his hood. It was Hubert. He stood watching the rabble for a moment with an amused expression, then she saw him say something to his companions and they roared with laughter. Soon, like ghosts in the gloaming, they disappeared into the yawning cavern of the church.

**

The skirmish only came to an end when someone in authority appeared on the steps of the building and let it be known that there would be consequences for anyone absent from vespers. Sheepishly, the crowd began to disperse.

Hildegard watched the boys pulling torn clothing back into place, brushing hair out of eyes, licking blood from raw knuckles and saw the delight in their faces. Choristers, as innocent as lambs, filed inside the chapel.

Edmund fell into step beside Hildegard without looking at her. Under his breath he muttered, ‘That went well.’

‘So I saw.’

‘Taillefer has left with them. He decided it would be best to escort them as far as the ferry and do the deal with the ferryman himself.’

‘That’s not what we agreed.’

‘He knows how to get back inside. He says he’s done it before. The men gave me their profuse thanks and told me to tell you that you may call on them anytime as they are eternally your slaves and bound to your command.’

‘Silly fools.’

‘Another thing,’ he bit his lip. ‘Peterkin had a good idea so we have made another slight variation to the plan. Bertram, who can talk tough and do impressive things with a knife, and one of the French boys who knows the language of assassins, have put on disguise and paid a visit to the guard. Still trussed in his own tower, by the way. They’ve suggested that if he breathes a word about my errand he will, on some dark and unspecified night when he least expects it, find himself on the wrong end of a stiletto.’

**

Sir John Fitzjohn was shaking with rage. His entire retinue of household servants including pages, his esquire, and assorted monastics of which Hildegard was one, had been invited to attend him in his audience chamber. It was in invitation no-one had the foolishness to decline.

Midnight. Rain pounded in the yard below the window slits. The wind howled. The cressets flared in every sconce giving off a taunting illusion of warmth, alas unfulfilled. Smoke lazed about the chamber in black wreaths.

Sir John’s voice boomed to outmatch the storm.

A bound and gagged guard had been found in the prison tower when the relief guard came on duty. The two English prisoners had vanished into the rain.

He knew, he stormed, that someone would have information that would explain this mystery. His glare was intended to prise the truth from the firmest resolve but met only the silence of clams.

Everyone had been kept standing for an hour while he raged and fumed and paced and beat one fist into the palm of the other. The smallest pages were yawning and swaying on their feet by now. The older ones in the secret guild were past the stage of exchanging looks of derision at Fitzjohn’s impotence.

Aware that he could extract nothing from such dumb insolence he tried the smooth approach. He flattered their intelligence and loyalty through gritted teeth. Still nothing. Aware that the sheer stupidity of which he so often accused them might be closer to the truth than he realised, he eventually issued a threat that even the most sot-witted would understand.

‘My men will be sent out in company with militia from the pope’s own army to scour the countryside. No bush, nor muck heap, no hovel nor pack wagon will be left unexamined. These felons cannot have got far. They will be found. We will extract the truth of their escape from them. If anyone here aided them in any way they will be named. I hereby give you one last chance. Confess! If any one of you has been near the tower I want your name now.’

Another glare.

A richly pregnant silence followed. For an age no-one uttered a word.

Then there was a scuffle and a flurry of movement among the pages as one of them stepped forward. It was Bertram. He removed his cap and bowed.

The hush deepened.

Looking neither to left nor right Bertram stared full into Sir John’s face. ‘Sire,’ he bowed again, ‘Most dear and illustrious lord, I have something to confess.’

Hildegard felt a thrill of horror run through those standing nearest. The hair on the back of her own neck rose in protest.

‘Continue.’

‘I confess, my lord, that I have been near the tower.’

‘I knew it!’ Fitzjohn exclaimed with a dangerous snarl. ‘When was this, you carl?’

‘It was when I was running after the pig’s bladder, my lord. I couldn’t help it, my lord. We could not let those choristers win.’

‘Pig’s bladder? What in St Joseph’s name are you prattling about?’

‘The bladder, sire. It went up over my head and I jumped and by chance caught it and then I ran as fast as the devil with it until someone handed me to the ground at the other end of the yard. Almost at the goal, sire. And then one of the French pages took it and we scored a hit, sire.’

Fitzjohn scratched his head. ‘And that’s all you can tell me?’

‘No, sire. After we scored, the bladder came back to me and I managed to give an underarm pass to the man nearest me and he would have scored, sire, but unluckily he was tripped up and the bladder passed to the other side but later – ’

‘Enough! I’m not interested in your blasted bladder! Anyone else go near the tower?’

‘I, too, sire,’ piped Elfric. ‘But it was earlier than that. It was when I went to deliver your shirt to the laundress.’ Elfric, as innocent as a lamb. ‘I had to walk past the tower at a distance of maybe five yards, sire.’

‘I, also, my lord,’ Simon pushed his way forward. ‘I was near the tower, I’m sure, but I forget when.’

‘I, too. I was near there only yesterday.’

‘And I, my lord. But it was while we were trouncing the choristers in the game. I ran very close to the tower and almost touched it.’

‘And I – ’

‘Shut up, you dolts!’

The chorus of confessions, some even from those not in the know, was silenced and very soon the meeting broke up with dark oaths from Fitzjohn. Edmund was ordered to fetch his lord’s armour and buckle it on without delay.

**

Fitzjohn accosted Hildegard in the passage outside the audience chamber. His mailed boots clanked on the stone flags.

‘What do you know about the two miners, domina?’

‘I know that which I’ve already told you.’

He squinted into her face. ‘Are you prevaricating?’

‘What has happened?’ Stalling.

‘You heard. Gone.’

‘Abducted again, my lord?’

He stared at her. ‘Sarcasm will be your downfall, domina.’ He strode off.

Then abruptly he stopped and glowering back at her said something that made her blood run cold.

‘Athanasius may be your protector and praise God he remains so, as your life depends on it. But know this, when I find out who is behind the escape of those two, if it’s you, you’ll need all the protection he and his inquisitors can summon.’

With one final glare he clanked off down the passage.

**

Despite the fear Fitzjohn’s words aroused, and her lip-biting concern for the miners, and the storm which raged even more violently and kept doors banging all night, Hildegard fell straight into a deep and dreamless sleep. She was dog tired after a very long day. It was well after prime when she awoke. Fitzjohn, she thought at once, with dull dread. What had he meant?

Rain was still clattering into the yard. The other occupant of the cell had crept out without making a sound. Hildegard gave a passing thought to what the woman was doing in Avignon. She lacked any aura of ambition, nor did she look like the close companion of any of the prelates, but then, there was no accounting for taste.

Chiding herself for uncharitable thoughts, she stretched and listened. It was quiet outside apart from the rain. Ominously so. The usual racket from the courtyard three floors below was subdued. It must be the weather, keeping everyone indoors. She began to worry about the miners again, soaked to the skin no doubt, maybe lost in the wilderness that was the French campagne.

Quickly dressing and buckling on her belt with the scrip and knife attached, she went out into the passage and made her way down to the Tinel to break her fast.

**

The Fitzjohn pages were just coming out looking replete although with heavy eyes from lack of sleep.

‘Is your lord back from his hunting trip?’ she asked.

Bertram shook his head. ‘Edmund had to go with them. We’ll let you know as soon as they ride in.’

‘I shall be in the Audience Chamber.’

Bertram nodded. His face was deathly pale.

‘Don’t fret,’ she reassured him. ‘I’m sure they’ll be well away by now. They had the advantage of several hours lead.’

‘It’s not that, domina.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’s Taillefer. He did not return last night.’

**

Assuming he must have decided to find shelter from the storm somewhere outside the enclave, she gave Taillefer’s absence only passing consideration. What she remembered was his insistence on mutual help and it made her resolve to do more to find the little dagger Maurice had been clutching as he died. Someone must have it.

She went up to see the magister. Before she knocked on his door she recalled Fitzjohn’s parting shot in the early hours and thought God help me. My protector?

**

‘My dear lady,’ he sighed, as she finished her careful report of the previous night’s events. She had told him only enough to include what would be generally known and no more.

He tutted and fussed with some beads for a moment then, unexpectedly, mentioned the wide and uninterrupted view from one of the towers. ‘If you mention my name the guard will allow you up the final, private flight of stairs onto the roof. From there you might be able to observe the movements of Sir John’s search party. You will be able to make out whether they have prisoners with them as they return.’

‘Before I do that, magiser, may I ask if you have had further thoughts about the missing dagger?’

‘None. Only that it must be found.’

‘An impossible task I would imagine. Where would one even start?’

‘It will show itself before long.’ He gave his catlike smile and she imagined him sitting patiently outside a mousehole waiting for his supper.

‘How is the cardinal today, magister? Is he any nearer finding the murderer of that poor boy?’

Athanasius shook his head. ‘He is over at Villeneuve on his estate. He won’t find any clues there, that’s for sure. I think the poor fellow is quite overwhelmed with grief. He has had a sad life, one way or another.’

‘Oh?’

Athanasius smiled. ‘He has the misfortune of being the younger brother of the old Pope, Urban V, second-fiddle all his life to his illustrious elder brother. He then had the misfortune not only to fail in his attempt to bring Cesena and Forli back within the jurisdiction of the papacy – but to have Clement, when he was merely Robert of Geneva, achieve the laurels of success. To add to this, his expectation of being elected pope were doomed when his fellow cardinals chose Robert instead. Jealousy has been his constant companion from the day he was born.’

‘He does not seem bitter.’

‘He feigns, dear lady, he feigns.’

**

The panorama from the top of the tower was, as Athanasius had hinted, spectacular. Despite the torrential rain she managed to find a sheltered spot behind the battlements where she had a clear view of the River Rhone. Now it was surging down more powerfully than ever past the outer walls of the city. From this height it seemed to coil round them like a living creature.