by Tamara Leigh
“So it did, but though she remains opposed to Norman rule, too long she has been absent from her rebels.”
“She is ill!”
“Aye, and feared soon for the grave.”
Aelfled shifted around to more fully face Vitalis. “They are wrong, are they not?”
Distress tightened his face. “Though this morn she appeared improved over when last I was here, nearly every stride forward is snatched back by her unwillingness to be still. Thus, even if it cannot be proved she acted against Jaxon in freeing the wolf, that she is believed no longer of benefit gives him the excuse to rid himself of her.”
He spoke of death. “Excuse,” Aelfled breathed. “You think revenge moves him?”
“It does, but there is something of greater consequence—wresting control of Wulf Fortier from her.”
Aelfled frowned. Jaxon knew as well as Vitalis and she the boy had no true claim to that name, that he was a pawn to ensure Isa did not become a possession and tool of one of the conqueror's favorites. “What does Jaxon want with him?”
“As the boy is believed half-Norman and the heir of Wulfen, he is the means of keeping this demesne in rebel hands in plain sight of the Normans—specifically, Gytha’s hands.”
“Gytha,” Aelfled breathed the name of the departed king’s mother who time and again tested the mettle of England’s new ruler.
“Aye, ever she wishes more from Wulfenshire than what Lady Hawisa is willing to give. She sees the ruse of burning crops to ensure the survival of our people as petty, that it is the deaths of Normans in great numbers to which we ought to turn our efforts no matter how many of our own yield up their lives. And methinks that is what Jaxon seeks to give her—the lives of more of her enemies, whether they be warriors, women, or children—by making Wulfen a base upon which her followers can amass and lead attacks.”
He looked past her to the rebels gathering before the castle. “Do we not stop them, they will breach the castle and all the more easily with so many of our lady’s best men this side of it.” He cursed under his breath. “I have weakened her defenses.”
“But the walls are high and of stone.”
“The buildings in the inner bailey are not, constructed of wood and thatch. For such an attack against the Norman castles rising across England, I have been training these men, and I do not doubt Jaxon thinks to put that training to good use against our own.”
“How?”
“Among the great advantages the invaders had at Senlac was an abundance of men proficient in the use of bows—a lesson well enough learned that many of our rebels are now equally skilled. Thus, soon you will see fire rain down over Wulfen, and the need to put out the flames will draw Lady Hawisa’s men off the wall. Then more arrows will be loosed, these with hooks and ropes to scale the walls.”
“Dear Lord,” she breathed.
“They make ready now.” Vitalis looked to his men on either side of him. “We must prepare to stop them.”
Aelfled followed his gaze, saw from the faces of housecarles and rebels that though they numbered far fewer than those under Jaxon’s command, they awaited orders that could mean their deaths.
“We cannot abandon our lady,” Vitalis continued. “Even do we fail, we must try to save the last of the family of Wulfrith.” He returned his gaze to Aelfled. “Dismount.”
“I can help,” she said and heard the sniggers and snorts of others.
Vitalis looked ready to refuse, then frowned and lowered his gaze over her. “I believe you can.”
“Tell me.”
“Dismount.”
“But—”
“Dismount, Aelfled!”
She grabbed the saddle’s pommel, twisted around, and slid down the horse’s shoulder. She thought the only aid required of her was her absence, but when she stepped back, he slid his meat dagger from its sheath and extended it.
It was a wicked little thing and would prove of better defense than her own should she find herself surrounded by Jaxon’s men, but Vitalis quickly dissuaded her of that notion. “Remove your gown.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Fire in the night.
Proof it was here Vitalis conveyed Aelfled? Merely another distraction? Or a genuine attack against the fortress?
Though Cyr had hoped to find his wife at Wulfen Castle, so ominous was the sight he revised that hope. Even if it took him days longer to locate Aelfled, he would not have her here. And greater that hope when he and his warriors ascended the last rise and he saw the chaos before Wulfen Castle that was better lit by fire rising from the outer bailey. As the drawbridge remained raised, it had surely been set by flaming arrows sent over the walls.
It was no easy thing to resist riding into that mass of warring men among whom Aelfled might be found, but he held more than his own life in his hands. Two dozen chevaliers and men-at-arms had accompanied him. He must think first how to preserve the lives entrusted to him, second how to use their skills to defeat what appeared a host numbering more than three times his own. And that was best done from the bordering wood so the enemy did not know who came at their backs until the last possible moment.
That Hugh-worthy decision allowed Cyr to study those before Wulfen and determine they did not attack the walls as a united force. They battled amongst themselves, and it became apparent they differentiated friend from foe. Of fewer number, those around whose arms were tied strips of pale material fought those lacking such.
From what Guarin had revealed of the division between the rebels and that Maël told those who departed Stern with Vitalis numbered thirty, the rebels wearing the pale had to be led by the man with whom Cyr had struck a bargain.
Though tempted to allow the two sides to finish what was begun, leaving the Normans fewer rebels to put down, Aelfled might be in their midst. Too, there were men not of the pale scaling the walls of the Lady of Wulfen who, as yet, William believed yoked to him. But the Norman attack on the rebels would not be indiscriminate as it would have been had Guarin not assured his brother Vitalis was not to blame for the injury done him—and that he who had taken Aelfled would not harm her.
Not allowing himself to think long on where she might be lest he render those under his command vulnerable, he turned his mount and addressed them. “They are rebels all, but this eve we side with those who wear the pale on their sleeves. When you ride amongst them, put down their opponents with the cry, God and Vitalis! in their language.” Cyr spoke it for those unfamiliar with Anglo-Saxon, then continued, “Regardless, watch your backs. They shall know us for Normans, and we cannot be certain our aid and battle cry will persuade rebels of the pale we fight with rather than against them.”
As told by lined brows and mutterings, there was unrest among the men, many of whom would have answered to Maël had not Cyr once more given him charge of Stern.
Praying they would trust him, he said, “Those are your orders, as are these—to preserve your lives and the lives of your fellow Normans, cut down whoever aggresses against you regardless of whether he wears the pale. If you can render him harmless without taking his life, do so. If not, dispatch him that he sooner answer to the Lord.”
More murmurings, these of agreement.
Reining his mount around, Cyr shouted, “To arms!” and sword in hand spurred out of the trees and across the meadow.
She had intended to stay the wood as Vitalis ordered, but then glimpsed movement at the base of the fortress along the side and knew Jaxon’s men sought the sally port. Under cover of trees she had followed their progress, thinking to shout a warning to Wulfen’s defenders in the unlikely event the hidden entrance was unsecured.
Not until Jaxon’s men were near enough to make good targets had those on that section of wall shown themselves between the battlements and loosed bolts from bows.
Aelfled had tried to think clearly in order to act wisely, but there being little time, she had run from the wood, calling to the men on the wall.
It had to have been the shock of s
eeing a woman clad in a thin chemise that kept an arrow from her own breast, and when she was near enough to identify herself as Lady Hawisa’s maid, orders had been shouted to those below.
The men above kept their arrows trained on her, surely lest she was joined by others seeking to enter uninvited, then the hidden door opened, she was yanked inside, and the sally port secured.
Though she had recognized the soldiers who had hold of her just as they recognized her, they did not trust her—a credit to their faithfulness and duty to Isa. They checked her for weapons, but all they found was her own meat dagger, Vitalis’s returned to him after she cut her pale grey gown into strips that were fastened around the arms of all who stood with him. There had been extra strips, and those he also distributed, speaking the names of a dozen rebels who were likely before the castle but who he believed would turn his side given the opportunity.
The first name had been that which always made her smile, not only for how unique it was but that it belonged to one from her own village of Ravven whom she had thought the kindest and gentlest of men. He was a warrior now, and she prayed the offer to abandon Jaxon would be received before he was cut down or did unforgivable harm to Lady Hawisa’s men.
Now as Aelfled entered the hall, she glanced over her shoulder at the fire delivered by arrows during her escort from the outer bailey to the inner. It was as Vitalis predicted and she had prayed he could prevent. But blessedly, here another benefit of stone. Though the wooden buildings the water did not save would collapse into smoldering piles, the walls enclosing them would stand, only their blackened surfaces testament to their own battle against flame.
As the doors closed behind her, Aelfled looked forward. The great room was filled with castle folk whom Isa had surely commanded to the donjon to protect them from the fires and blades of their attackers.
Doubtless, enough drink and food was stored here to sustain them for weeks providing those seeking to take the outer bailey did not also gain the inner. Did they, within days—at best—they would break through the donjon’s defenses and put all within to the blade.
“Lord,” she whispered as she searched for her lady who was not upon the dais nor before the hearth. As ill as Isa was, she must be abed, but it was not to the curtained solar Aelfled was led.
“Remain here.” The housecarle named Ordric jutted his chin at a bench before the hearth. “I will ask Lady Hawisa to grant you an audience.”
“Tell her it is of import, that I—”
“Sit.”
She lowered beside a boy of five or six whose knees were drawn to his chest and arms wrapped around them, blue eyes wide with fear above those knobby joints. Aelfled slid an arm around him, and he did not resist when she drew him against her side.
“All will be well,” she murmured as she watched the housecarle ascend the dais and disappear behind the solar’s curtains. It was then she became more aware of eyes upon her—likely as much for her immodest state of dress as that she who had not numbered among those of the household for nearly two years had returned. On such a night as this, she did not need to feel their suspicion and distrust to know of it.
When Ordric reappeared and motioned her forward, Aelfled eased the boy away, stood, and smoothed the hair back off his brow. “Where is your mother?”
“I-in the kitchen. Gatherin’ food. She told me to wait here.”
Aelfled smiled. “I am sure she shall return soon.”
He nodded, and she patted his shoulder and turned toward the dais.
An unexpected sight greeted Aelfled when she passed through the curtains the housecarle parted—as surely unexpected as was the sight of Isa's former maid wearing only a chemise. Her own surprise was not that her lady kept company with others in the torchlit solar, but that she stood before the iron-banded chest at the foot of her postered bed and the bold manner in which she did so.
She was erect, shoulders level, chest forward. Beneath a sheen of perspiration possibly of fever, color swept cheeks above gaunt hollows. Though her golden hair remained the dark of long unwashed tresses, it was braided back off her face, exposing a regal neck. And she was clothed in crisp—albeit dusty—garments far from those of a lady.
Isa’s husband had forbidden her to don men’s clothes that, as the daughter of Wulfrith, she had occasion to wear before her marriage. Even when he summoned his wife to the training field to confirm the techniques taught those who would become England’s greatest defenders remained true to the reputation of Wulfrith, she had been required to wear a gown.
Now she was a sight to behold. Though not unusually tall nor broad for a woman, and her figure possessed more curves than Aelfled’s, her bearing made her appear so formidable that were tales of shield maidens true, such women would look like Hawisa Wulfrithdotter who wore tunic, close-fitting chausses, boots, and a wide leather belt fit with both long and short scabbards from which projected the hilts beneath which would be found killing blades.
“As you know, Aelfled,” she said in a voice strained enough to betray her, “Wulfen is under attack by those who are no longer our own. What you also know that I do not is how you are here without Vitalis.”
“He is at Wulfen, my lady, having made the trade you required for the release of Guarin D’Argent.”
Striking grey eyes widening, Isa retreated a step, felt a hand behind, and lowered to sitting atop the chest. It took her some moments to settle whatever was unsettled, then she said, “Tell me all and quickly, Aelf.”
Heart bounding over being named that again, she swept her gaze over the other occupants of the chamber. There was the one who had taken Wulf’s place, watchful where he stood before the hearth. Alongside him, and inappropriately near, was a young woman whose chin was down as if the white-knuckled hands clasped against a worn and torn gown were more interesting than the men and women with whom she kept company. Wondering who she was, Aelfled looked to the others—three housecarles, two of whom were also arrayed in dust.
Aelfled returned her gaze to her lady. “May I approach?”
Isa inclined her head.
She halted a reach from her and told all that was relevant, which did not include her marriage to a Norman. “And that is what goes in the outer bailey and beyond your walls, my lady,” she said and once more found her thumb seeking the ring of braided hair.
Hands curled over the chest’s lid, Isa leaned forward. “When Jaxon demanded entrance, I knew the release of our Norman prisoner brought him to my walls and the time had come for him to move against me. Thus, though Vitalis’s numbers are far fewer, I prayed for his speedy return so he might aid in defending Wulfen.”
“Your prayer is answered, my lady.”
“But for what? I know he is the best of all that remains of my sire’s legacy, as are those who look to him ahead of Jaxon, but is it enough? Or will it see my man dead?” She shook her head. “This night, he and his faithful do not fight astride, do they?”
“Nay, my lady. They dismounted.”
She nodded. “Though I ordered Jaxon to develop methods to provide our men the advantage the Normans had upon Senlac, ever he fought me over instructing them to wield weapons astride. Thus, Vitalis sought to train himself and those closest to him, but they had too little practice.” She rubbed her forehead. “So dare I risk remaining here in the hope it is Vitalis who comes to the donjon? Or do I risk shepherding the castle folk from Wulfen?”
Wondering if her lady’s prolonged illness had affected her mind as well as her body, Aelfled sank to her knees and caught up Isa’s cold hands. “Even if the outer bailey—and sally port—have not yet fallen, it is not possible to take the castle folk from Wulfen.”
“You are wrong, though only hours past did it become possible. But as told, there is risk there as well.” Isa considered Aelfled. “You are yet faithful to me?”
“I am, my lady.”
She pushed upright. “Come.” She crossed to the far corner of the solar where a tapestry hung that only then Aelfled realized wa
s a source of light beyond candles and torches set around the chamber.
“My lady?” a housecarle said and started to follow.
She flicked a hand. “I do not require your accompaniment. Keep watch over Wulf.”
Wulf, not Wulfrith, meaning that affection was no longer reserved for the one of her body and heart?
Aelfled followed her lady behind the tapestry and past the door left ajar that had allowed the glow of a single torch within the passage to cross the threshold. She knew of the hidden places here, having been present when the stone walls were erected and witness to arguments between husband and wife over their construction, the latter determined if she must give up her timber house and live in one of cold stone she would make the most of it with the addition of passages similar to the one she later added to Lillefarne’s outer wall. Isa’s Norman husband had yielded, though not entirely, determining it too costly and dangerous to add a passage coursing underground to the wood.
Aelfled peered left up the stairs that fell into complete darkness beyond the tenth step, then to the right where her lady moved through a short passage lit by the torch taken from the sconce. Here was the source of dust seen upon Isa’s garments and those of her housecarles. As if stirred by a breeze, it danced in the warm, flickering light.
Rubbing her itching nose, Aelfled set after her lady and, as the woman turned right, called, “You think to hide the castle folk within these passages?”
“Nay, beyond.”
“Beyond?”
Her lady did not speak again until they passed two more sets of stairs and turned right again.
“This is familiar to you?” Isa asked.
“Aye, my lady.” Aelfled had explored the passages years past, and well enough to now notice the addition after descending toward the cellar where food and drink were stored. A short passage branched off that landing, then more steps appeared of a descending rather than ascending nature, so crudely constructed Aelfled was more grateful for torchlight and her lady going before her. When she reached the next landing, she saw the walls of an incredibly long passage ahead were fashioned of dirt and chipped away rock. Though they lacked the reinforcement of stone blocks, many were the timber posts set in the sides and overhead.