Soot and black smoke whorled from the buildings, mingling with the moist air and choking the bystanders and fire fighters. Gavin pushed his way through the crowds of people to join his men near the blaze, quickly taking a place at the front of a line that passed the leather buckets to and from the town well.
Clem stood next to him, handing him dripping pail after dripping pail. He swiped at his sweating face with a thick arm, smearing black ash over his cheek and temple.
"'Twas lightning struck the house here," he told Gavin as he whirled to shove a full bucket into his lord's middle. He turned away to get another, then spun back to take the empty and pass on the full. "It must have smoldered below the roof for some time, else-" He turned away again, then back, "the rain would have put it out. "
Gavin grunted in agreement, forbearing to point out that the brevity of the storm, fierce as it was, had likely contributed. The thatched roofs of the peasant homes were particularly susceptible to such dangers. It had happened more than once in this village alone-lightning had struck, passing through the roof into a house, setting the interior ablaze before anyone realized it.
"Did all get out safely?" he asked Clem, slamming an empty bucket into the man's hand.
"Aye, I believe so. . . although-" He turned back as Gavin turned toward the fire in the rhythm they had established, then they returned face to face. "Robert the Cooper has a bad burn. "
A sudden wind blustered, sending ash and smoke billowing into the faces of the fire fighters. Gavin ducked, holding up an arm to ward off the black fog. Something stung him fiercely on the shoulder, and he slapped a hand there to brush away the sparks that landed on his bare skin. He cursed himself for neglecting to pull on a sherte before leaving the keep, but there was no time to stop now.
"This way!" A voice shouted, and the mass of fire fighters stumbled, shifting several steps in one direction to move out of the wind's changed path.
The buckets kept coming, but the wind would not allow them to gain an advantage. Soon, the walls of the first building collapsed inward, sending up a shower of sparks and ash. A spray of orange coals scattered over Gavin, stinging like tiny needles that he didn't have the time to brush away. Already, a fourth building was beginning to smoke in the hay-like thatch of the roof.
With a shout that had grown rough because of the sooty air, Gavin pointed at the coil of smoke coming from the building. He beckoned for two of the lines of bucket-passers to turn their attention to this new danger, then, with a quick nod to Clem, he slipped out of his own position and started toward the group of women and children.
Pointing to the wife of the smith, he said, "You-Sally-get you those children who are old enough, and whatever women can be spared from watching the young ones, and throw water on this house next. If we have God's luck, we shall keep it from spreading further. "
He was just about to return to his place in line when an agonized scream reached his ears.
He turned to see a woman running toward the fourth of the burning buildings. "My son! Barden! My son!" She would have dashed into the blaze had Gavin not thrown out an arm and caught her around the waist.
When she looked up and recognized him, even that did not stop her from struggling to get free. "My lord! My son's home! My son and his wife!" she shrieked-a mournful, wailing cry that tore at Gavin's heart. "I cannot find them! They are b
urning!"
"They are there?" he asked, looking at the building, gauging how badly it was burning within. His glance flickered over the mass of people that worked as one body, passing buckets and tossing water. It was unlikely that Barden and his wife had not been awakened by the activity. Thus, if they were within the house, they were most certainly dead. "Stay you here. " He started toward the house.
"My lord-" her shriek of mingled gratitude and horror followed him as he started toward the small home.
Gavin was near enough to feel the blistering waves of heat from the building next door when a hand closed over his arm. He shook his arm to loosen the grip, and turned in annoyance to see a familiar, soot-covered face. "Lady Madelyne!" he exclaimed, stopping. "What are you doing?"
"Nay, my lord, you cannot go in there!" she tightened her grip on his bare arm, seemingly heedless of the sweat that made her fingers slip. She was dressed in a long, stained gown, with the bulk of her hair pulled back into a thick braid. Sweat dripped down her own face, which was flushed from exertion and speckled with ash.
"I must see to her son," he said simply. "'Tis my duty. I am the lord, and I am foresworn to protect my vassals. " He started away again.
"Nay! My lord!" Moments later, she was after him again, carrying a bucket of water. "Wait. "
He turned, more annoyed. "You cannot say me nay, Madelyne. I must-"
"I would not. But, here, take this to cover your mouth and head. " She handed him a length of cloth, and he saw that she had torn her gown to her knees. It was wet and cool, and she helped him to wrap it around his head and shoulders, leaving a flap to pull over his mouth and nose. "Have a care!"
Her words followed him, even over the crackle and hiss of flame and the calls and shouts of bucket-passers, and for once he did not ask himself why he should have a care for his safety. Instead, he paused at what once was the door of the house, wrapped the wet cloth more tightly over his head, and pulled up a piece of it to cover his face.
He kicked out at the sagging door of the house, shoving it into an interior that was dim. Smoke did not billow out, which bespoke of the fact that mayhap the fire had not progressed as far as he'd feared. Gavin stepped inside gingerly, watching for fallen timbers and other pitfalls.
The house was little more than a hut, and it did not take much effort to scan the room with his gaze, even in the dimness of the interior. At first, he saw naught but the flames that licked the ceiling, kissing the walls and dropping an occasional tuft of fire onto the floor. Then, back in a corner, he saw a large, unfamiliar shape.
Stepping over a fallen beam, he skirted the edge of the building to avoid the fire in the center, and approached the lump. It was a piece of the wall, and had folded inward, collapsing onto a pallet, leaving an opening just next to the blaze outside.
With a grunt of triumph, Gavin stepped over a collapsed stool and, continuing to hold the cloth over his face, used one hand to push the wall up. It sagged, bowing in the center, but held together so that he lifted it up enough to see the two people it had covered. Though he could not tell if they yet lived, he dropped the cloth from his face to push the wall away, and it fell outside of the hut, landing against the next house that burned. The smoke suddenly speared into his nose and mouth, and Gavin found himself needing to duck near the floor. Fighting the cough that welled inside his lungs, he replaced the cloth over his nose and reached to grab the woman's arm with his free hand.
He grasped her wrist, half lifting her off the floor, and slipped his arm around under both of her arms, then began to push his way toward the opening where the wall had collapsed. He was just reaching it when he realized the fire next door was too close for him to make it out safely, and he was forced to turn.
By now, the smoke was burning his eyes so that they were hardly tearing any longer and he could see little but blurred shapes. It was hot, and sweat made him and his grip slippery and clumsy. He took several steps toward the door before stumbling and nearly falling to his knees.