The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe

by Kathryn Le Veque

  They were in Tertium lands now, a vast and wide place as ancient as the world itself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ne sais-du pas?

  This time, Ghislaine remembered everything.

  As blood seeped through the bindings on her right thigh, she’d ridden with Gaetan up hills and through forests, leaping across streams as they followed the swift Tertium on their nimble horses.

  The Norman war horses, while fast, were heavy beasts, muscular like their masters, and therefore weren’t as swift as the lighter horses with the long legs. Seated behind Gaetan on his animal, Ghislaine held on tightly as they traveled over unfamiliar territory.

  They were deep in Tertium lands.

  There were no roads, no landmarks, only meadows, hills, and forests in the most primal sense of the word. Ghislaine knew Mercia, or at least most of the south and east of it, but here in the west, it was a wild place, largely ignored by her brother except for a few major villages like Worcester, Birmingham, and Shrewsbury. The area they were in was positioned between the larger portion of Mercia to the north, east, and south, while to the west, Wales loomed.

  This was still part of the shadowlands; that is, mysterious and dangerous territories that stretched as far as the eye could see and a part of Mercia that her brother, Edwin, had essentially turned a blind eye to. There were too many warring and territorial tribes there, the Tertium included, and his focus was on Harold and the lands of his territory that he could more easily control.

  Strength draining and leg hugely paining her, Ghislaine buried her face in Gaetan’s back, holding him close as they traveled over the land. Gaetan was reining his horse with his left hand while the right hand held Ghislaine’s right leg behind the knee, trying to keep it elevated and braced against his right hip as they traveled.

  It seemed like they rode for miles and miles upon end. Ghislaine was growing groggy from the blood loss, from exhaustion in general, but suddenly, they were deep in a forest of ancient oak trees, in a clearing with a massive canopy of branches overhead and a stream that ran through the middle of it. It smelled of all things damp and leafy. There were people in the clearing. In fact, there was an entire village, with huts made out of rock that was dredged up from their farming fields and local river beds.

  Deep in the forest, an entire world had sprung up.

  Lifting her head when the horses slowed and they entered the outskirts of the hidden village, Ghislaine was very curious about her surroundings. People rushed out to greet their returning men but when they saw them in the company if nine very large warriors, a priest, and a lady, they seemed to back off, inherently fearful of anything from the outside. Their men had returned with what was termed in their language as an allii. Others. These were not people who were part of their world.

  As Ghislaine saw all of the suspicious and fearful faces, she whispered to Gaetan.

  “These people hate my brother,” she said quietly.

  Gaetan looked around at the faces of the women and children. He could see their fear, their mistrust. He was calm in his observation, assessing the situation.

  “Mayhap that is true, but Antillius offered to help you even knowing who your brother was, so do not worry,” he said. “Moreover, I am here. So is my sword. If they make any attempts against you, I will defend you.”

  Ghislaine smiled faintly, looking up at him and meeting his eyes as he looked at her over his shoulder. “You would be my champion, then?”

  He had a glimmer in his eye that set her heart to racing. “Among other things.”

  There was something innately seductive in that reply but Ghislaine was prevented from answering when the horses came to a halt. Suddenly, Aramis was there, pulling her off of Gaetan’s beast and holding her against his broad chest just as Gaetan had done. Antillius came towards them, parting the crowed and pulling along an old woman who evidently took exception to being bossed around.

  Antillius was pointing to Ghislaine, explaining the situation, and once the old woman understood, she went right to Ghislaine and tossed up the edge of her cote, seeing the bloodied bandages. She didn’t even pause to look at the injury; she could see that it was bad. She turned to walk away, beckoning for the lady to follow.

  “This way, this way,” she said, pushing through the crowd that had gathered. “Bring her this way!”

  Aramis followed, as did Gaetan, Téo, and the big hairy dog, but the others remained with the horses and possessions. They were essentially in enemy territory, so no one was going to follow Gaetan and leave their assets behind to be picked over by people who were circled around them, all looking at them quite suspiciously.

  As Aramis, Gaetan, Téo, and the lady disappeared into the collection of rock huts, the rest of the knights stayed very close to the horses. They were watching the inhabitants of the village as closely as the villagers were watching them. Like an odd standoff, they simply stared at one another.

  Mistrust was in the air.

  “Look at this place,” de Moray muttered to de Lara. “This is fairly large village here beneath the trees. And look at the homes; neatly built, avenues laid out. This is not the design of barbarians.”

  Luc was looking around as well; with Gaetan away, he was in command. “Nay, they are not,” he said. “But look at them – fair skinned, pale-haired, dressed in robes and skins. Even their manner of dress suggests some kind of civility.”

  As the two of them were scrutinizing the crowd, Wellesbourne walked up beside them. He, too, was watching the people surrounding them.

  “My father spoke of lost tribes like this,” he said, his voice low. “This is a group of people untouched by the world. They live by themselves and die by themselves. And look; did you see their monument when we came in?”

  Marc and Luc hadn’t. They strained to see what Wellesbourne was pointing at, finally seeing what looked like a neatly stacked pile of stones with a pole of some type rammed into the top of it. It soared several feet above the ground and, curious, the knights moved away from the crowd of gawkers and went to investigate.

  Moving around the front of the monument, they could see that it was a long staff of some kind of metal, probably bronze, with several round metal discs fastened to it, discs that contained images that were faded and weathered. Near the top of the staff was a trencher-sized disc with laurel leaves carved into a circle around the edges, and in the middle of it was what looked like the figure of a goat.

  It was quite fascinating. As de Moray moved in closer to touch it, de Lara spoke.

  “I have seen staffs like this before,” he said. “Near my father’s home in Bayonne there is one in the cathedral. Look at the top – see those letters? SPQR. That has to do with the ancient legions from Rome, I believe.”

  “It does.”

  The knights turned to see Antillius walking up behind them, looking up at the large bronze staff just as they were. There was reverence in his eyes as he gazed upon it.

  “My ancestors carried this staff across the sea, across England, and settled in this land,” he said. “This is a shrine to those men who conquered the savage lands of Britannia but, specifically, the lands we live upon. This was the province of Flavia Caesariensis, the land of our ancestors. It is still our lands, although the Saxons have taken most of our territory. But not all of it; we continue to fight for what is ours but our struggle is never over. We fight for our continued way of life.”

  That explained a great deal about these people and how they came to live in this extremely inaccessible area. Now, the knights were coming to understand the background of this isolated tribe. It was a remarkable story.

  “The Romans have not been here for hundreds of years,” de Lara said. “They were in the Pyrenees, near where I was born, and all over Spain and France, but they are only a whisper of a dream now and nothing more. But here, you keep their memory alive?”

  Antillius looked at the knight, a big man with a crown of black hair. “They are still here,” he assured them quietly. “
Look at my people. We are the descendants of these great men who forged their way into a cold and unfriendly country. The term Tertium is the name of the legion we are descended from – Legio Tertium Augustus. It means Augustus’ Third Legion.”

  He pointed to the top of the staff where faded letters were etched into the bronze and the knights looked upward, trying to make out the name of the legion.

  “And you have survived here, as a race, all this time?” De Lara was incredulous.

  “We have.”

  “Your customs, your manner of speaking… this is all part of the ancestors you pay homage to?”

  Antillius nodded, looking around to his people, who were starting to disburse now that the excitement of their visitors had faded. “We keep to ourselves and we protect ourselves,” he said. “That is why we fired upon you when we found you within our borders. We patrol our lands constantly for invaders and when we saw you, we naturally assumed the worst. We did not know you were searching for an injured woman.”

  De Lara nodded. “In truth, she was looking for us but she was mistaken in both her sense of direction and her reason for searching,” he said, not wanting to explain it further at this point. “Thank you for showing mercy. We shall not forget your kindness.”

  Antillius nodded faintly, his gaze moving from Luc to Lance, Denis to Kye, and over to Bartholomew and then Jathan. It was clear that there was something more on his mind than the history of his tribe or the injured woman.

  “You are not Saxon,” he finally said. “I am acquainted with those who rule these lands and you are not from here. You mentioned that you are from Spain and France?”

  Now, the reason behind their appearance had been introduced and Luc was reluctant to explain too much, at least not until Ghislaine was tended and they had the opportunity to flee what would undoubtedly be angry men fearful of a Norman invasion.

  In fact, as Luc pondered the situation, he knew the Normans would not leave these people alone as centuries of Saxons and Danes and Celts had evidently done. Nay, the Normans would wipe them out if they did not comply and there was some sadness in that thought. His Norman brethren would assimilate the Tertium until their memories, their traditions, were no more.

  “We are all from France,” he said after a moment. “We are here in England because we have a mission to attend to.”

  Antillius cocked his head curiously. “What mission?”

  Luc was careful in his reply. “One of our comrades has been taken hostage,” he said. It was the truth. “We are heading north to find him and free him.”

  “But what about The Beautiful Maid?”

  “She is our guide in these strange lands.”

  Antillius clearly had more questions but he didn’t pursue it at the moment; truth be told, he suspected that wasn’t the entire truth. He found himself looking at heavily-armed seasoned knights, bigger and more fearsome than anything he’d ever seen. Surely there was more to their presence than what he was being told.

  In fact, Antillius was very curious about the outside world and what went on away from his isolated life. He would often speak with the Saxons he traded with to learn such things. But before him, he saw a grand opportunity to learn more than the foolish Saxon farmers could tell him. Warriors from France, he thought with satisfaction. Aye, he would discover their purpose, if only to gain news of the world around him.

  But something told him there was much more going on than he realized.

  “Then you must be weary if you are on a mission to save your friend,” he said. “Come. I will show you where you can rest. There is a corral off to the north where you can put your horses but, first, let me show you where you may sleep while you are with us.”

  The knights knew they couldn’t refuse his hospitality. So, while St. Hèver remained with the horses, the rest of them followed Antillius to a long stone structure that turned out to be a convening hall. There were elders in the village and this was where they met to discuss any issues of concern.

  Built of the same rock as the rest of the village, the convening hall had a fire pit in the center of it and a sod roof, slightly pitched, with holes near the top of the walls for smoke to escape and ventilation. It also had stone benches and faded images of pagan gods drawn on the walls that, at one time, had been painted. But the colors had faded, leaving only shadows of images, something the knights found both disconcerting and fascinating. However, it was a roof over their heads, something they hadn’t had in days, and the simple comfort of it was welcome.

  Antillius left his guests settling in to the convening hall while he went to seek his daughters to inform them of their guests, and then on to the elders of the village to tell them about the enormous warriors from across the sea. Certainly, they would all be interested to know what was happening on the outside, but in order for the warriors to speak more freely, they would need an incentive.

  Copious amounts of alcohol, made from apples and fermented grains, were soon being prepared for the coming meal.

  In vino veritas….

  After carefully examining the torn stitches in Ghislaine’s thigh, the old woman simply removed the broken stitches and then sewed the wound up again with thread made from hemp. It was very strong but it was also painful as the woman poked the sore skin and carefully stitched.

  Ghislaine sat on the floor in the old woman’s neat house. It was a tiny structure with a tiny bed, a small fire pit in the center, and clutter that one would expect from an old woman living alone. Camulos, her guardian, was lying on one side while Gaetan was crouched on the other, holding her hand as the woman poked and stitched, squeezing her hand now and again as she gasped and made faces because it damn well hurt.

  Aramis and Téo stood in the open door, watching the procedure, but they were both watching it from completely different perspectives. Aramis was watching Ghislaine and Gaetan, his misery gaining steam, while Téo was watching Aramis. In fact, that was the only reason he’d come. He’d seen the looks between Gaetan and Ghislaine, and subsequently Aramis and Gaetan, so he came to ensure that nothing got out of hand between Gaetan and Aramis.

  It was clear that Gaetan had the lady’s attention but Aramis wasn’t so subtle about his interest towards her. Téo had seen this situation developing from the start and he was quite concerned for Aramis. The man didn’t say much, nor did he ever react to much, but he was reacting openly to Ghislaine. At some point, Gaetan was going to have his fill of it. Therefore, Téo had come to make sure nothing happened between two men vying for the same woman.

  He was dreading the moment when it did.

  “How does the leg look, Gate?” he asked Gaetan.

  Gaetan was watching the old woman finish up her careful stitches. “Not as bad as I thought,” he said. “There was so much blood it was difficult to see, but it is not as bad as it could be.”

  The old woman was on her final stitch. “It will heal,” she croaked in that odd Latin that Antillius also spoke. “The lady must stay still. She must rest until it heals.”

  Ghislaine made out most of what the old woman said. She looked to Gaetan in distress. “I cannot stay still until it heals,” she said. “You must go to Tenebris and I must go with you. We cannot wait more than a day or two at most.”

  Gaetan patted her hand. “You will not worry about that today,” he said. “Today, you will rest all day. Tomorrow, we shall discuss this further.”

  Ghislaine wasn’t so sure. As she sat there and fretted, there was movement at the door and she looked up to see three young women approaching. Téo and Aramis, also by the door, caught sight of the young women and they immediately stood back so as not to crowd the timid women. Also, they were inherently interested in them. The women were, by all accounts, young and quite pretty.

  But the young women were fearful of the big knights as they huddled near the door, eyeing the warriors while trying to gain sight of the old woman inside.

  “Pullum?” one of them called. “Pater has sent us. He has told us to help you
with the injured lady.”

  The old woman finished with the last stitch and sat there, surveying her handiwork. But she paused a moment to wave the young women in, and they darted into the tiny hut in a frightened bunch.

  “Aye, I will need your assistance,” she said. “This young woman has a wound that must heal. After I wrap the leg, you will assist the lady in bathing and cleaning herself. She is quite dirty and, I would presume, wishes to be comfortable. Will you tend her?”

  The girls nodded, looking at Ghislaine, who was gazing back at the three of them somewhat warily. Ghislaine had very few female friends, given the fact that she had been a warrior most of her life, so female companionship was rare in her world.

  In truth, it was also somewhat unwelcome. She didn’t like silly women and their petty problems. But she also knew she couldn’t refuse the hospitality being offered. As her gaze moved from the young women to Gaetan to see what his reaction was to all of this, the first young woman spoke again.

  “I am Lygia, daughter of Antillius,” she introduced herself timidly. “These are my sisters, Verity and Atia. What is your name?”

  Ghislaine looked at them fearfully before her gaze moved to Gaetan. Odd how she was quite fearless in the face of men and battle, but being approached by three young women had her tongue-tied. He smiled wearily at her.

  “Tell them your name,” he said. “They will not bite you.”

  Ghislaine’s focus moved back to the young women but when she spoke, it was hesitantly. “I am Ghislaine of Mercia.”

  Lygia was a pretty girl with soft blonde hair and a big-toothed smile. “Welcome, Ghislaine of Mercia,” she said, sensing the woman’s standoffishness. Without anything more to say, she turned to the old woman. “We will go and gather what we need and return shortly.”

  The old woman waved them off and they fled the hut, passing by Téo and Aramis as they did. They were the recipients of some rather interested expressions. In fact, Téo was still looking at them as they disappeared into the neat clusters of rock homes and only when they were out of his view did he return his focus to what was happening inside the hut. He thought one of the sisters, a tall lass with copper curls, was quite lovely, indeed, but he forced his thoughts away from her to focus on the situation at hand.