“Will you swear it?”

“I swear it, by the cross, if you surrender.”

“I surrender,” said Earl Bartholomew.

There was a great cheer from outside.

Tom turned away. Martha ran across the room to him. He picked her up, then embraced Ellen.

“We’re safe,” Ellen said with tears in her eyes. “All of us-all safe.”

“Safe,” said Tom bitterly, “but destitute again.”

William stopped cheering suddenly. He was the son of Lord Percy, and it was undignified for him to yell and whoop like the men-at-arms. He composed his face in an expression of lordly satisfaction.

They had won. He had carried out the plan, not without some setbacks, but it had worked, and the attack had succeeded largely because of his advance work. He had lost count of the men he had killed and maimed, yet he was unharmed. He was struck by a thought: there was a lot of blood on his face for one who was uninjured. When he wiped it away, more came. It must be his own. He put his hand to his face, then to his head. Some of his hair had gone, and when he touched his scalp it hurt like fire. He had not been wearing a helmet, for that would have looked suspicious. Now that he was aware of the wound it started to hurt. He did not mind. An injury was a badge of courage.

His father came up the steps and confronted Earl Bartholomew in the doorway. Bartholomew held out his sword, hilt first, in a gesture of surrender. Percy took it, and his men cheered again.

As the noise died down William heard Bartholomew say: “Why have you done this?”

Father replied: “You plotted against the king.”

Bartholomew was astonished that Father knew this, and the shock showed on his face. William held his breath, wondering whether Bartholomew, in the despair of defeat, would admit the conspiracy in front of all these people. But he recovered his composure, drew himself upright, and said: “I’ll defend my honor in front of the king, not here.”

Father nodded. “As you wish. Tell your men to lay down their arms and leave the castle.”

The earl murmured a command to his knights, and one by one they approached Father and dropped their swords on the floor in front of him. William enjoyed watching that. Look at them all, humbled before my father, he thought proudly. Father was talking to one of his knights. “Round up the loose horses and put them in the stable. Have some men go around and disarm the dead and wounded.” The weapons and horses of the defeated belonged to the victors, of course: Bartholomew’s knights would disperse unarmed and on foot. The Hamleighs’ men would also empty the castle’s stores. The confiscated horses would be loaded with goods and driven back to Hamleigh, the village from which the family took its name. Father beckoned another knight and said: “Sort out the kitchen staff and have them make dinner. Send the rest of the servants away.” Men were hungry after a battle: now there would be a feast. Earl Bartholomew’s best food and wine would be eaten and drunk here before the army rode home.

A moment later, the knights around Father and Bartholomew divided, making a passage, and Mother swept in.

She looked very small among all the hefty fighting men, but when she unwound the scarf that had covered her face, those who had not seen her before started back, shocked, as people always were, by her disfigurement. She looked at Father. “A great triumph,” she said in a satisfied tone.

William wanted to say: That was because of good advance work, wasn’t it, Mother?

He bit his tongue, but his father spoke for him. “It was William who got us in.”

Mother turned to him, and he waited eagerly for her to congratulate him. “Did he?” she said.

“Yes,” Father said. “The boy did a good job.”

Mother nodded. “Perhaps he did,” she said.

William’s heart was warmed by her praise, and he grinned foolishly.

She looked at Earl Bartholomew. “The earl should bow to me,” she said.

The earl said: “No.”

Mother said: “Fetch the daughter.”

William looked around. For a moment he had forgotten about Aliena. He scanned the faces of the servants and children, and spotted her right away, standing with Matthew, the effeminate household steward. William went to her, took her arm, and brought her to his mother. Matthew followed them.

Mother said: “Cut off her ears.”

Aliena screamed.

William felt a strange stirring in his loins.

Bartholomew’s face turned gray. “You promised you wouldn’t harm her if I surrendered,” he said. “You swore it.”

Mother said: “And our protection will be as complete as your surrender.”

That was clever, William thought.

Still Bartholomew looked defiant.

William wondered who would be chosen to cut off Aliena’s ears. Perhaps Mother would give him the task. The idea was peculiarly exciting.

Mother said to Bartholomew: “Kneel.”

Slowly, Bartholomew went down on one knee and bowed his head.

William felt faintly disappointed.

Mother raised her voice. “Look at this!” she shouted to the assembled company. “Never forget the fate of a man who insults the Hamleighs!” She looked around defiantly, and William’s heart swelled with pride. The family honor was restored.

Mother turned away, and Father took over. “Take him to his bedroom,” he said. “Guard him well.”

Bartholomew got to his feet.

Father said to William: “Take the girl as well.”

William took Aliena’s arm in a hard grip. He liked touching her. He was going to take her up to the bedroom. There was no telling what might happen. If he were left alone with her, he would be able to do anything he wanted to her. He could rip her clothes off and look at her nakedness. He could-

The earl said: “Let Matthew Steward come with us, to take care of my daughter.”

Father glanced at Matthew. “He looks safe enough,” he said with a grin. “All right.”

William looked at Aliena’s face. She was still white, but she was even more beautiful when she was frightened. It was so exciting to see her in this vulnerable state. He wanted to crush her ripe body beneath his, and see the fear in her face as he forced her thighs apart. On impulse, he put his face close to hers and said in a low voice: “I still want to marry you.”

She drew away from him. “Marry?” she said in a loud voice full of scorn. “I’d rather die than marry you, you loathsome puffed-up toad!”

All the knights smiled broadly, and a few of the servants sniggered. William felt his face flush bright red.

Mother took a sudden step forward and slapped Aliena’s face. Bartholomew moved to defend her but the knights restrained him. “Shut up,” Mother said to Aliena. “You’re not a fine lady anymore-you’re the daughter of a traitor, and soon you’ll be destitute and starving. You’re not good enough for my son now. Get out of my sight, and don’t speak another word.”

Aliena turned away. William released her arm, and she followed her father. As he watched her go, William realized that the sweet taste of revenge had turned bitter in his mouth.

She was a real heroine, just like a princess in a poem, Jack thought. He watched, awestruck, as she climbed the stairs with her head held high. The whole room was silent until she disappeared from sight. When she went it was like a lamp going out. Jack stared at the place where she had been.

One of the knights came over and said: “Who’s the cook?”

The cook himself was too wary to volunteer, but someone else pointed him out.

“You’re going to make dinner,” the knight told him. “Take your helpers and go to the kitchen.” The cook picked half a dozen people out of the crowd. The knight raised his voice. “The rest of you-clear off. Get out of the castle. Go quickly and don’t try to take anything that’s not yours, if you value your lives. We’ve all got blood on our swords and a little more won’t show. Get moving!”

They all shuffled through the door. Jack’s mother took his hand and Tom held Martha’s. Alfred stayed close. They were all wearing their cloaks, and they had no possessions other than their clothes and their eating knives. With the crowd they went down the steps, over the bridge, across the lower compound, and through the gatehouse, stepping over the useless gates, leaving the castle without a pause. When they stepped off the bridge onto the field on the far side of the moat, the tension snapped like a cut bowstring, and they all began to talk about their ordeal in loud, excited voices. Jack listened idly as he walked along. Everybody was recalling how brave they had been. He had not been brave-he had simply run away.