by The Saxon
For a moment Adelar thought this building deserted, too, except for the dogs, until he saw a man and a woman sleeping on a pile of straw. He cautiously moved closer.
The woman lay on top of the man, snoring softly. Her skirt was pulled up nearly to her waist, revealing filthy, heavy legs. Her tangled hair covered the man’s face and straggled over her tattered gown, which had once been very fine.
That had once been his mother’s gown, Adelar realized with a jolt. With a sudden burst of suspicion, he kicked the man savagely. “Get up!” he snarled, determined to know just what had happened here and why this dirty wench was wearing his mother’s gown.
His father sat up drunkenly. His face was flushed and choleric, his eyes red, and he had grown very stout. “By Saint Peter, who the—” He stopped, his eyes widening as he encountered Adelar’s hostile glare.
“Greetings, Father.”
Kendric rose as quickly as he could, sending the wench rolling in the straw. The drunken woman simply mumbled something and continued to sleep while Kendric straightened his stained tunic and smiled. He had lost several teeth. “I knew you’d come back,” he cried excitedly. He nudged the woman with his foot. “You see! I told you he’d come back.”
The woman didn’t respond, but Kendric did not seem to notice. He took hold of Adelar’s arm and pulled him closer to the cold hearth. “I knew you’d come back, Adelar. After all, family’s family, eh? Let’s have some wine. Or ale.”
“What has happened here?” Adelar asked, his voice as cold as the hearth.
Kendric paused in his search of all the nearby drinking vessels. “That scoundrel Cerdric.”
Adelar crossed his arms. Cerdric was Kendric’s oldest illegitimate son, the one Kendric had shouted would have all of Kendric’s possessions on the day Adelar had gone away, vowing never to return. “What has he done?”
Kendric took a swig of the dregs in one of the drinking vessels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can’t you see? He’s robbed me, that’s what.”
“How?”
“Took nearly everything, the ungrateful bastard. I treated him well, too. He had whatever he wanted. Money. Weapons. Women. And then one day, he tells me he wants the burh. Of course I refused. He got angry, the impudent pup! Angry! At me!”
Adelar believed his father. He had met Cerdric, who could give even Ranulf lessons in greed.
“So he left and took everything he could carry. Most of the warriors went with him. Leeches! Wait till his money’s gone. They’ll walk away from him fast enough then!
“I told him you’d come back. I told him I would see to it that he never got command of this burh or any other! And do you know what he said? He told me he didn’t need me! After I gave him everything! He had nothing before.”
Adelar watched dispassionately as his father began to search for something to drink again. “The ungrateful wretch! He’ll see! One day the money will be gone and he’ll come crawling back to me, eh, Adelar? He’ll come back. They all do. Try to make their way in the world without me and fail. I know he’ll come back, too, and beg my forgiveness.”
“Is that why you think I have come, to ask your forgiveness?”
Kendric wavered as he straightened. “No...no! Of course not, my son.” He smiled at Adelar, the hypocrite still. “You’ve come back just as a dutiful son should, eh? To help me in my old age. I knew you would not forget your duty. We’ve both made mistakes, eh, my son, but that was in the past. We’ll show that bastard. This place will be as great as it was before, now that you’re back. Cerdric will see. We’ll show him.”
Adelar did not doubt that his father was pleased to see him, but only because he believed Adelar could help him restore his burh to the status it had enjoyed before.
Kendric had no love in his heart for anyone save himself. He never had and he never would, and now he was left with nothing.
As Adelar looked at the wreck of the man who had sired him, all the hatred he had borne for so long withered and disappeared. Kendric could have been a great man once, and now he was nothing. Not even worthy of hate.
He had sinned because he loved Endredi and would have done anything to be with her. Even now, he was staying away from her because it was what she wanted, although it went against every dictate of his heart.
Adelar reached into his tunic and took out the pouch containing the last of his money. He handed it to his father. “Here. You will need this.”
“Why? Aren’t you staying? This burh—I will see that you command it.”
“I have no wish to take it.”
“Ah! I see what you’re doing! You came to get what you could out of me before Bayard dies. Then you think to have my money and his command!” his father shouted, growing even redder.
“What is this you say?”
Kendric grinned malevolently. “Do you think you can fool me with that innocent look? Everyone knows Bayard is dying. Has been since the Yuletide. You won’t get anything from him, either!”
Adelar stared at Kendric. Since he had left Bayard’s burh, he had never asked about Bayard, thinking the less said about his past the better. Nor had anyone said anything to him. If there had been talk, he had not heard it.
He spun on his heel and marched toward the door.
“Adelar! Adelar, come back!” Kendric ran after his son. “I spoke without thinking! Adelar, come back! I need you! We have to show Cerdric!”
But by the time he got to the door, Adelar’s horse was galloping out of the gate.
* * *
“What do you mean, do not let them enter?” Ranulf demanded, his eyes full of fear as he stared at Endredi, sitting beside the bed where Bayard lay. Helmi hovered nearby and made no secret of her disgust for Ranulf’s cowardly demeanor.
Endredi turned to her husband’s nephew wearily. Ever since the Yuletide, when Bayard had suddenly worsened and they could no longer keep his illness a secret, Ranulf had been trying to assume command. Because of the trouble with Godwin, he—and his wife—were being very subtle. Nonetheless, not a day passed that Endredi did not fear they would try to seize command of the burh. Or that Dagfinn would attack.
And not a day passed that she did not yearn for Adelar with her whole heart.
“What does Dagfinn want?” she asked, wondering if Ranulf was exaggerating. Although she did not credit Dagfinn with generous feelings, it could be that he had come not to attack, but to visit an ally.
Of course, he had probably already heard of Bayard’s illness, so a visit might just as easily become an attack if Dagfinn felt the burh vulnerable enough.
“Don’t you understand?” Ranulf cried anxiously. “There are at least two hundred Danes out there, waiting at the gate. Every one of them is armed and ready for battle. I cannot simply tell Dagfinn to go away!”
Bayard had spent all the time he could trying to teach Ranulf how to defend the burh, explaining strategy, trying to educate the man in the ways of leadership.
But obviously to no avail. Ranulf was a coward who could never command.
“I have no wish to speak to Dagfinn,” Endredi replied, wiping Bayard’s sweaty brow. She felt very ill herself this morning, with little strength to face Ranulf or Dagfinn or anyone else. The sun had been up only a short while, and she had had no sleep. A series of cramping pains had kept her from what little rest she got after nursing Bayard. It was nearly time for her child to be born, and she feared the pains were due to that. Nevertheless, sometimes—especially it if was a first child—the pains would simply cease.
“He won’t believe I am being truthful with him,” Ranulf whined.
“Explain to him that Bayard is occupied with other business, and I am ill and cannot see him.”
“Could you not speak with him yourself?”
Helmi stepped forward, her lips a thin, determined line. “I will tell that troll Dagfinn to go away and leave us in peace, if you will not.”
Bayard’s weak voice interrupted them. The burhware heaved himself to a
sitting position, his once powerful body wasted, his eyes bright with the fever that never left him now. “I am not dead yet, Ranulf. Tell Dagfinn that, too, and that I can guess why he has come. He would never dare to attack while I was healthy and had Adelar at my side. He comes now like a crow, thinking it an easy matter to defeat me. Tell him to go or we will send him from here with force. Then order my men to arm themselves. I will lead them myself, lest Dagfinn not believe my words, either. Now, Ranulf!”
His nephew nodded jerkily and withdrew. Bayard put his feet upon the ground.
“Bayard, you must not stand!” Endredi entreated.
He smiled at her, the expression a pain-racked version of his former joviality. “Helmi, fetch me my leather tunic and byrnie. Endredi, stay here.”
When Helmi brought the waist-length coat of mail and the undercoat of padded leather, Bayard rose slowly. He looked at the maidservant. “Find Ylla and Gleda and bring them here. I will send an armed guard to protect this bower. Whatever happens, once you return with the women, you are not to leave my wife. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” Helmi bowed and hurried away.
“Bayard!”
Bayard took Endredi’s hands in his. “While I have strength left in my body, I will fight to protect you and the child. You and I both know why Dagfinn has come. The wonder of it is that it has taken him this long.” He caressed her cheek. “If it comes to battle, and the battle is lost, you must flee from here. Go to Cynath.”
“It will not come to battle,” Endredi said fervently. “It must not.”
Bayard dropped her hands and sighed. “I hope Dagfinn will leave. All the same, I wish Adelar was here.”
“He may return,” she whispered.
“If you were in his place, after all that has happened, would you?” Bayard asked.
“I...I do not know. But I am not Adelar. If he has heard of your illness...”
“Adelar is a proud man. I myself cannot be certain of what he will do. However, should Adelar not come back, Cynath will aid you. He will also see that the child inherits. Father Derrick has my will safely hidden in the chapel. Even a fire would not touch it, and the Danes would never find it.”
His words were so like last instructions that Endredi’s eyes filled with tears. “Bayard, do not speak like this!”
He struggled into his padded tunic. While she helped him to fasten it, he said, “If Adelar returns after I am dead and asks you to be his wife, will you agree?”
She paused at her task.
“I think you should, Endredi. He cares for you more than I have ever seen a man care for a woman. And I know, in your heart, you want him still.”
“Bayard, please! This is not the time—”
“Yes, it is.” He took her cheeks in his hands, the gesture so reminiscent of Adelar’s that she could scarcely tolerate it. “Endredi,” her husband said softly, “I care for Adelar very much, in my own way. And I could never give my heart to any woman. I would die happy knowing that you will be together. You and Adelar and the child.” Bayard stepped away and slowly lifted the coat of mail. “I think he will come back. For your sake, if nothing else, Endredi.”
“I hope so, for all our sakes. He did not abandon me before, although it seemed he had. Surely he will not abandon us when we have the greatest need for him.”
Bayard, dressed for battle, picked up his sword. “Remember, this should go to Cynath, with my respect and thanks.” His hand clutched it tightly, but his fingers trembled.
“You do not intend to go into battle yourself, do you? You are too weak.”
“I am the burhware, Endredi. It is my duty.” He gave her the ghost of his smile. “However, let us hope that Dagfinn will leave us in peace if he believes he must fight me for what he wants. Still, if a battle is what must be, we both know there are worse ways to die.” He placed his hand gently on her swollen stomach. “Take care of the babe, Endredi.”
She nodded, proud to be his wife. “I will protect this child with my life.”
Ranulf came rushing into the bower, his eyes wide with fright. “They won’t listen! They said I am lying. They asked if Bayard was already dead. They have moved back a little, but I believe they mean to fight!”
“Then you had better arm yourself, Ranulf,” Bayard remarked calmly, “for Dagfinn will not get my burh as long as I draw breath.”
His nephew went pale. “You are too sick to fight!” he cried. “You cannot lead us to battle!”
“Do you wish to take command?” Bayard asked.
“No! No, my lord! It...it is not my place,” Ranulf sputtered.
“I thought that was what you would say.” Bayard turned to Endredi. “Farewell, Endredi.”
She lifted his thin hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Farewell, Bayard,” she whispered.
Ranulf turned and ran out ahead of Bayard.
Suddenly, Endredi felt a sharp cramp, and as she doubled over, her water broke.
Bayard stared at her helplessly. “Endredi!”
She made her way to the table, another pain gripping her womb. “It is the child, Bayard. I am going to have the baby. I thought...hoped the pains were false.”
“What should I do?”
“Helmi and the others will be here soon. I have been teaching Ylla.” She leaned with her hands on the table and closed her eyes. “It may be some time yet. Go. All will be well.”
Bayard looked at her pale, pain-racked face. “While you fight your battle, Endredi, I will fight mine. And I promise you, I will win.”
* * *
Adelar dismounted in the cover of the woods. From his position on the ridge, he could see the line of Danes drawn up on the open space before Bayard’s burh. The men stood restlessly in the bright sunlight, their weapons in their hands, helmets glinting on their heads.
The gate of the burh opened and the first group of Saxon warriors ran out holding their spears and round shields. They began to form the shield wall, a defensive line in front of the commander. Behind them came the churls bearing spears and swords, shields and clubs. On the walls, archers took their places.
The Danes had come to do battle, and Bayard’s men were answering their challenge. There could be no doubt of it.
Swiftly Adelar tore his byrnie from his pack and drew it on. In the next instant he had his broadsword in one hand, his scramasax in the other, his shield over his back and was hurrying down the dew-slippery slope. The Danes were shouting insults to the Saxons as they took position, and the Saxons were responding in kind, so there was no need for Adelar to keep silent.
He crashed to a halt in some holly bushes near the bottom of the ridge as a helmeted figure came slowly through the gate of Oakenbrook to take a position in the center of the men.
Bayard. It had to be Bayard, surrounded by his warriors, ready to signal them to battle. And behind him came Father Derrick, armed for battle and calling upon God to bless the Saxons and curse the Danes to the everlasting flames of hell.
How slowly Bayard moved, as if in pain.
Where was a second-in-command? Or even Ranulf?
How soon could he go to the aid of the Saxons? He was behind the Danes’ line. Could he get around it and join Bayard’s men?
Suddenly, with a blood-curdling cry, Bayard lifted his arm and gave the signal to attack. At once, a hail of arrows fell upon the Danes as they rushed forward.
Before he could move, Adelar heard a sound nearby, of hastily spoken words and running feet. He turned and spotted two people hurrying through the woods.
Ranulf and Ordella. Ranulf carried not arms and mail, but a chest that weighed heavily, to judge by how he carried it. Full of coins or other booty, surely. Ordella, too, was similarly burdened.
At once Adelar moved to intercept them. “Ranulf!” he called out. “The battlefield is behind you, nithing.”
They both halted, staring at him.
“What are you doing here?” Ordella demanded with bravado, although her gaze shifted nervously as the
sounds of battle grew louder. “I know what you are, Adelar, despite my words to Bayard to the contrary. If you are wise, you will leave us to go our own way.”
“Yes,” Ranulf answered nervously. “I...I am going to Cynath. I am a messenger, sent to warn the overlord—”
“You are a coward, Ranulf.”
“Do not try to stop us!” Ordella warned as he came closer. She put down the heavy cask she carried. “What have you got in that chest?” Adelar demanded, halting in front of Ranulf. Around them they could hear the dull thud of errant arrows striking the trees and the ground.
“I must be on my way to tell Cynath about the Danes,” Ranulf insisted.
And then Adelar felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his side. He twisted as Ordella jumped away, grabbing the hilt of the small dagger she had thrust into him. He yanked it out, realizing that although the wound was more than a scratch, his byrnie had saved him from a mortal injury.
He lifted his sword, ready to strike, when Ordella’s eyes suddenly widened. She pitched forward, an arrow in her back.
Ranulf dropped the chest he carried and darted away. But before he got far, Adelar dropped his sword and threw his scramasax toward the fleeing man. Ranulf stopped, his arms thrown wide, then he fell to the earth like a dead bird.
Panting from the pain and the effort, Adelar picked up his broadsword and staggered toward Ordella. Yes, she was dead, her expression frozen into a wide-eyed grimace.
He knelt and closed her eyes. Then he ripped off a piece of her gown and stuffed it beneath his byrnie to staunch his wound.
As quickly as he could he went to the battlefield, pausing for a moment to search out Bayard.
There, in the center, stood his cousin. With a fierce battle cry, Adelar ran at the Danes, slashing his way toward Bayard.
The Danes, startled and confused by what they thought an attack from the rear, moved aside—until they realized it was only one lone Saxon. But by then, Adelar was near to Bayard.
“Adelar!” the burhware cried. “Do you come to fight for me, or against me?”
“I come to protect Endredi,” he said, taking his position to guard his cousin’s back.
“I am glad of it,” Bayard shouted above the din.