They rode down back streets, with François leading and Stephen at the rear keeping watch to see that no one followed.
When they drew their horses up before the door of an elegant house, François piped up, “Let me get her for you.”
Stephen said, “Stay here and keep quiet.”
Stephen spoke in undertones to the servant who answered the door. A short time later, a woman appeared. Her long, fair hair fell loose over a red silk robe. As she drew Stephen inside, her husky laugh drifted through the night air.
“Who is that?” Isobel whispered to François.
“A friend of Madame Champdivers.”
A “friend” of Marie’s! Despite all his other lies, had de Roche spoken the truth about Stephen and the beautiful courtesan? What hold did the woman have on Stephen that he would come here now, in the midst of their escape?
“She is very, very beautiful,” François said with a sigh.
The door opened again, casting a wedge of light on the narrow street. As Stephen kissed the woman’s cheek, Isobel saw her press a pouch into his hand. Without a word of explanation, he mounted his horse and signaled for François to lead.
Isobel should have expected the city gates to be barred at this late hour. Still, her bowels turned liquid when the guards came out of the gatehouse, weapons drawn.
“My good fellows!” Stephen called out. He held a hand up in a calming gesture as he dismounted.
After a brief exchange, Stephen held up the pouch the woman had given him and swept his arm toward the other men circled about them. Then he shook the pouch into the outstretched hand of one of the guards. Glittering coins overflowed the man’s palm and spilled onto the ground.
When the guard grabbed Stephen’s shoulder, Isobel broke out in a cold sweat.
What?Were they laughing? The guard pounded Stephen on the back as if they were old friends sharing a merry joke. Soon the other guards were snickering and snorting, as well.
Stephen’s voice grew louder and she caught a few words. “… then the Englishman said, ‘Why do you think we raise so many sheep? For wool?’ ”
Good heavens, Stephen was telling them jokes! Obscene jokes, from the sound of it. After another round of laughter, Stephen remounted his horse, and the men opened the gate just wide enough for them to ride through single file. They departed the city amid calls of “baa baa” and a spate of good-natured obscenities.
Stephen turned and waved as they headed down the dark road.
“How did you do that?” Isobel asked.
“Night-guard duty is dull work, and the men are always grateful for a few jokes,” Stephen said. “But it was the coins that opened the gate. The guards’ job is to keep attackers out of the city; they can see no harm in taking a little silver to let someone out.”
Isobel suspected Stephen had not been nearly as confident the guards would let them pass as he pretended.
“They will be repeating those awful jokes for hours,” he said. “With luck, that will divert them until we are well away.”
“When those guards came out, I imagined your head on a pike,” she said. “And I would wager you did, as well.”
“Aye,” he said. “And you imprisoned, guarded by an ugly hunchback who gives you lewd looks.”
François burst into laughter, but Isobel was thoughtful.
“We will camp in those woods for the rest of the night,” Stephen said, pointing into the darkness ahead.
“Where is Linnet?” Isobel asked, guilt-stricken that she did not think of the girl sooner.
“I sent her back to Caen with the men who came with me.”
Until this moment, she’d given no thought to the journey back to Caen. They had a long and dangerous road to travel.
But Stephen was here. He would keep them safe.
Chapter Thirty-five