LITMIR.BIZ

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wave was rolling along the river. Couldn’t be, but it was.

      A wave?

      Hugh’s heart began to thud. He dug his heels into the gelding’s ribs. ‘La barre,’ he muttered.

      The wave was rushing upstream towards the port. White crests foamed at both banks. In the centre, a wall of water reared up.

      Behind him, Gil began to babble as he spurred his horse. ‘My l—Hugh! The boats! The jetties!’

      ‘More to the point—Louise!’

      Hugh gave the gelding his head. They pounded up the track towards the quays.

      In the port ahead, others had noticed the wave. People were crying out, pointing, dragging pack animals away from the water side, darting forwards to drag bales of wool clear of the water-line. The tocsin rang on, louder than before.

      Louise! She should be on the barge. The blood thumped in Hugh’s ears as beneath him the gelding’s hoofs drummed the ground. The wall of water was closer, almost level with the port itself. Hugh had heard tales about tidal surges, had heard of the damage they caused, but until this moment he had thought them exaggeration. Now as he stared dry-mouthed at the approaching surge, he wasn’t so sure.

      Louise! As the gelding thundered towards the port, part of him was praying that his sister had disobeyed him. She often did. But the cold lump in his belly was telling him that this time, Louise had done as she was told. ‘Stay in the boat,’ he had said. ‘Be good.’ Mon Dieu.

      ‘We’re too far away!’ The despair in Gil’s voice sounded like Louise’s death knell. ‘Impossible to get there!’

      Hell! The surge was a mere five yards from their barge which, since it was moored at the end of the jetty, would be one of the first to be struck. Hugh focused on a slight figure in a brown gown and his blood turned to ice—Louise! There she was, she had heard the commotion, had run to the ship’s rail to stare.

      ‘Get out, Louise!’ Hugh yelled. ‘Get out!’ But it was hopeless, Louise could not hear him. It was too late, he could never reach her in time.

      Hugh Duclair had told Aude the truth; another river barge was indeed moored downstream, in a shady inlet behind the far jetty. Sir Olivier—he was being most useful—had helped her find it.

      Aude had booked passage on it for the following morning, and with the knight’s assistance had covertly acquired new travelling chests. Aude’s maid, Edwige, had quickly transferred most of Aude’s belongings to the new chests.

      The old trunks had been plain wood, studded and banded with iron. The new ones were painted, the surfaces covered with daisy-like flowers. Once Edwige had finished packing, Aude and Sir Olivier had between them supervised their safe stowing on the barge in the backwater.

      That being done, Aude and Sir Olivier were walking arm in arm along the riverbank back to the main port.

      ‘I do not think Lord Edouard suspects you are intending to leave tomorrow, my lady,’ Sir Olivier said.

      ‘No, I hate to deceive him, but I must confess I am glad you have agreed to accompany me.’

      Sir Olivier smiled. ‘You know the reason for that, my lady. My time with the Abbot has come to an end and—’

      ‘Sir, you know I will not marry you; you will not persuade me.’

      ‘Perhaps, perhaps not…’

      ‘Sir, you must believe me. But I do hope to use some of my English revenues to pay your knight’s fee. I will need support in Alfold.’

      His face brightened. ‘You would like to hire me?’

      ‘Yes, I—’

      A piercing scream cut through the air. A tocsin was sounding.

      ‘What on earth…?’ Aude lifted her hand from Sir Olivier’s arm.

      More screaming. Hairs prickled on the back of Aude’s neck. Snatching up her skirts, she started running towards the quays.

      She took in the approaching wave—coming upstream?—and the panicky scurrying on the jetties. People were shoving past her, faces blank with fear. Spray arched skywards, droplets glowing like a rainbow. Someone else started screaming; everyone was screaming.

      And there, alone in the barge nearest the oncoming water, stood a little girl—a child—in brown homespun. She was looking at the wave, frozen with shock, forgotten.

      The wave reached up like a living thing. The barge lurched sideways, the mooring rope snapped. The girl’s shriek rose like a gull’s above the clamour and the wave thundered down, dragging the girl into a swirl of frothing, seething foam.

      Hissing snakes, Aude thought, as something clicked inside her. There was no time for thought, she tore the veil from her head and hurled herself forwards.

      ‘My lady, no!’

      The river swooshed past, flooding the jetty. There was noise, Aude’s ears were full of it: rushing, screaming, bells. So much noise, it deafened. Water hit, came up to her calves. The river roared, drowning out the snakes. Cold.

      Water slapped her legs, almost toppling her. The ancient river gods had come alive and they were out to get her. Aude held her ground. One hand found a mooring post and she clung. The other reached for the girl as her barge was swept away, bucking and rocking out among the white horses.

      ‘Take my hand!’ Aude cried.

      The girl in brown was being tossed about like a bundle of rags among the packing cases, but the water was bringing her closer. She was barely managing to keep her head above water; if she let the incoming tide take her, she wouldn’t last more than a minute.

      Someone else was in the water. A woman wailed. ‘Didier! Didier!’

      Aude fixed her whole attention on the child. A barrel thumped into her and her knees buckled. She held her ground. The girl vanished beneath the surface before reappearing a few yards nearer, water steaming down, hair stuck to her skull. A small hand reached for hers.

      ‘That’s it!’

      Bracing herself, Aude stretched forwards.

      Their hands met and clutched. Held. The girl’s body swung round; the river was determined to carry her upstream. Aude gripped that small hand as though her life depended on it. Her arm felt as though it was being ripped from its socket.

      And then she was no longer alone. Sir Olivier was at her shoulder, catching the child’s other hand, the brown skirts. Together, they wrestled her out of the water.

      The wave had passed Jumièges; it was ploughing on upriver, but the danger was not over.

      ‘Be careful, my lady,’ Sir Olivier gasped, as they got the girl clear of the water and he lifted her into his arms. ‘There’s a fierce wake. Mind the wake.’

      Even as he started back to shore, a packing case thudded against Aude’s shin.

      Aude’s legs buckled. She fought to find her footing and slipped head first into the boiling river.

      Galloping flat out along the high water-line, Hugh had arrived in time to see that Louise was safe. The havoc the surge had caused at the port had almost stopped his heart. A couple of rowboats, their moorings severed, were being tossed about on the river; barges were drifting midstream without oarsmen or steersmen; upturned boats were being carried towards Rouen, but Louise was safe.

      Aude had saved her! It had to have been Edouard’s sister; Hugh recognised that green gown. The pristine whiteness of her veil stood out in a crowd, she stood out in a crowd, risking herself to save Louise. She had handed Louise to Sir Olivier. And now she herself was gone.

      He had to find her. Little Brat. She must be saved, she must.

      Breathing hard,

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