Red Adam's Lady

by Grace Ingram

“Back up here then! Save your moaning, you old trickster; we’re searching every foul cranny of it!”

  “Search all you’ve a mind to,” Erling responded.

  Julitta tried to suspend her breathing, all her faculties concentrated in her ears. Adam stiffened beside her in the dark, and she touched the haft of her dagger that would not save them this time. Clumping feet reverberated against the Greylag’s planking, and the clatter of a wantonly destructive search rampaged the length of her. The sheep bleated indignantly, and was answered by a shout of laughter. “Mutton on the hoof he’s carrying!”

  “That’s a breeding ram Lord Adam ordered to improve his flock!” Erling protested.

  “God’s Head, Red Adam’s lord no longer, and his tup’s mutton for our dinner!” jeered Humphrey, and the bleat rose to an agonized yell and broke. “Take it to the horses, Martin. Break me open this trapdoor, Jehan, and we’ll see what’s hiding behind it.”

  “It opens—” Erling began, but an axe’s crash overbore him.

  “Barrels, m’ lord.”

  “Trundle them out. See who’s behind them—poke them out.”

  “No one, m’ lord. Nowt but barrels—salt fish and oatmeal by the smell—and these three looks like they holds wine.”

  “More of Red Adam’s ordering? Roll them out; we’ll drink them for him.”

  “They’re not paid for—you’ve no right—”

  “God’s Head, you whoreson huckster, d’you expect me to chaffer with you? It’s a light enough tribute you’re paying for upholding Red Adam. Heave them out, you fellows! Briskly now! Any sign of our quarry?”

  “None, m’ lord. We’ve ransacked her through.”

  Feet crunched the pebbles, coming nearer; his voice when next he spoke was so close that he must be standing by the ship’s stempost. “Hell’s devils, where else could they have found aid? Jehan, Richard, Henry, seize me the tall towhead!” The rattle of spurned shingle, grunted oaths and hard breathing reached Julitta. The hated voice went on, harshly mocking. “Your son, huckster? Prick your point at his belly, Hubert; just at his navel. Now, old man, tell us where to find Red Adam and his strumpet wife, or Hubert’s spear goes through to your son’s backbone, and you may watch him squirm for an hour or two after.”

  Adam braced elbows to the pebbles to thrust up, but Erling moved faster, taking two steps forward that set one foot on his shoulders and crushed him flat. “By Thor’s Hammer, you rabid wolf,” he blared, “you’ve searched my ship, you’ve looted my cargo, and now you’ll butcher my son? You know they’re not here!”

  “Towhead, answer for yourself before the spear goes in! Red Adam and the wench—where are they?”

  “By the White Christ,” Hakon defied him, “if they were here I’d tell you nothing!” He ended on a sharply indrawn breath, and Adam squirmed helplessly. The canvas pinned Julitta rigid with horror, but she recognized that Hakon’s life could not be sacrificed for Adam’s, and tried to find purchase to rise. Instantly a foot on her back drove her painfully into the pebbles, and while she lay winded, the sail jerked thrice as Erling plunged across it. His voice spoke, deadly quiet, through startled silence.

  “Give the word, butcher, and your head lies in two halves! Your helmet’s no protection against this.”

  “You madman—”

  “Drop that spear! Loose him! Back aboard, Hakon—all of you! Bring that tarpot! Anyone who blocks your way, give him a snoutful of boiling tar!”

  Humphrey managed an unconvincing laugh. “Let be!” he ordered, on a note of chagrin. “A test, no more. That threat was bound to fetch the truth out of you.”

  “A test? Aye, so my axe blade tested you! Keep yourself and your men out of its reach until the tide’s in. We’ll be out of here in an hour, and you’ll not see me or any other outland captain bring ship again into this thieves’ haven.”

  “God’s Head, you’re free-tongued for a clip-penny pedlar! Don’t press your luck too hard,” Humphrey growled, but the clatter of retreating feet and then the ring of horseshoes told that he had withdrawn. Harness jingled, feet squelched along the miry path and curses dwindled away. Julitta gulped in a breath and her quailing flesh eased away from the imprinted pebbles. Beside her, Adam jerked air painfully into his lungs.

  “The Devil roast you, Lady-face, for a thieving coward!” Erling said dispassionately. He tramped across the sail to the ship’s side, and Julitta could hear a murmur of conversation in his voice and Hakon’s. She reached in the dark to touch her husband’s arm.

  “Dear God!” Adam whispered, and shuddered violently.

  Presently Erling returned, took up the sail again and resumed his task. As the light dived under it, the first thing Julitta saw was the axe blade, and she did not wonder at Humphrey’s withdrawal.

  “My apologies,” Erling said placidly, “for using you so roughly, but I had to hold you down.”

  “Erling—dear God,” Adam croaked, “your own son—and we are nothing to you—”

  “Our guests,” he answered with flinty finality. “And it was not for your sakes. What man buys his life with his honor and dares call himself a man thereafter?” Other feet moved on the sail. “Hakon, lad, if I’d betrayed Lord Adam to save your life, what would you do?”

  “Spit in your face,” answered Hakon. “When I carried him here I took up a host’s duty, and you upheld my honor as your own. Luckily the knightly kind mislike an axe.”

  “That kind’s only brave with the odds in his favor.”

  “He’s left a couple of men on watch, up on the rocks there—”

  “As I’ve seen. Lord Adam, my lady, you must lie in your hole a little longer. A hard wait it’s been, but the only way.”

  “We’re alive,” said Adam, in that odd thick voice, “and that seems a miracle.”

  Yet their purgatory’s term was fixed. The tarpot was cold, the caulking mallets silenced; the seamen waited on guard behind the vessel’s bulwarks. The waves thrust under the Greylag’s stern, lapped over and between churning pebbles, fingered coldly to where they lay. The ship stirred. Then the heavy canvas was peeled up and back, and Julitta was dazzled by sunlight long withheld. Too cramped to move unaided, she and Adam were unceremoniously hoisted up, covered from the shore by the sail, and tumbled over the gunwale. They sprawled under the break of the poop, tingling with returning sensation, while the Greylag lurched free, the oars were run out with a disciplined thump and rattle, and she swung away from shore, round the reef now awash at nearly full tide, and stood out to sea.

  Julitta sat up and twisted round to her husband, and her first sight of his wrecked face in daylight jolted her heart. Hakon stared, swore, and fetched a wooden bowl of water and linen rags. Between them they washed the clotted blood from his hair and face. Both eyes were blackened and swollen to slits, a ring had gashed his right cheek and his lips were cut against his teeth; the front ones were slightly loosened, but she thought they would grow firm again. She closed the gash in his scalp by tying strands of hair across. The worst damage was his broken nose; she straightened it as best she could for the swelling. For the rest of his life Adam would have a kink in it.

  She sat back on her heels, blinking tears away. He leaned to scrutinize his reflection in the discolored water. He flinched, and then shrugged. “It was never a face to charm the ladies,” he said wryly.

  “Now you are virtuously wedded that need not fret you,” Julitta retorted, matching jest for jest lest she weep.

  A seaman brought more ale, bread and fresh broiled fish. She was ravenous, and food put heart into her. Adam ate too, breaking morsels and chewing carefully, but his hunger was soon defeated and he left the greater part of his portion. The Greylag idled a quarter-mile from the castle headland; outside arrow-shot of land a seaman could thumb his nose at his foes’ impotence.

  Erling beckoned a gray-bearded sailor to take the tiller and joined them under the poop. He scrutinized Adam’s face, and nodded. “You were not born to die of a broken neck” he observed. “
What do we do now, Lord Adam?”

  “‘We’?” Adam sharply caught at the word. “Master Erling, you’ve risked too much already, and this is no quarrel of yours.”

  “That lady-faced hound made it my quarrel,” Erling pronounced, and Hakon murmured assent.

  “You’ve done more than any man could ever require—”

  “In my own land,” Erling stated, “a merchant who voyages overseas in his own ship is reckoned equal in worth to any landed warrior. He dishonored me. Am I to accept shame from a mailed thief and sail home unrequited?”

  “He set a spear at my belly,” Hakon added. “He and his like hold rule in Brentborough now,” Adam pointed out.

  “Rule? He’s not fit to hold dominion over a dunghill! My lord, we are yours to command.”

  Adam frowned at Brentborough keep, and drew a hand across his eyes and brow in a betraying gesture. A blow hard enough to unsteady his wits through the whole night must have jarred the brain inside his skull, and Julitta knew his head ached so that he could hardly see. “I’ve Brien and thirty men in York,” he said at last, “and there’s a way into Brentborough from the ravine.”

  “Better still, there’s a place under the headland where a boat could tie up,” Erling amended.

  Adam looked up into his grimly-smiling face, his lips parting on expostulation, and then nodded. “Better still,” he agreed. “If you’ll land me a league or two up the coast, I’ll make my way to York. Julitta—”

  “I go with you.”

  He considered it dubiously. “I suppose you’ll be safer in York than elsewhere.”

  “How long will it take you?” Erling asked.

  “Two days, perhaps three, on foot.”

  “For the next ten days, Lord Adam, I’ll hang offshore here, to be ready at your need. Seamen climb handily, and they are handy also with edged tools.”

  “Notably axes? I cannot refuse, and indeed you’ll be warmly welcome.”

  “I’ll be sorely disappointed if I don’t meet Lady-face,” Erling commented, and Hakon grinned. “And there’s that profitable association to be safeguarded, remember.” He stood up, turned his nose to the southeast breeze, and issued brisk commands. Up went the yard and sail, and the ship pointed her prow north, the sea creaming under her stem and curdling white in the wake she ruled out behind her.

  Adam climbed to his feet and leaned against the larboard gunwale, watching Brentborough’s keep diminishing to a child’s toy, until a headland’s shoulder shut it from sight. When he turned away Erling touched his arm. “It’ll be yours again, Lord Adam. Now lie down in my cabin for an hour. You’ll need all your strength to reach York afoot.”

  “I swore fealty to the King for it.” Adam said bleakly. He lifted his battered face to Erling’s. “They hanged Odo for defending me. My seneschal opened the gate, and it’s my bastard kinsman sits in my place.” He passed a hand again over his brow, and blundered blindly into the cabin. Julitta dived after him, and steered him to the low bed, upon which he almost fell—he who was never clumsy. He rolled on to his back and reached for her hand. She gave it into his clutch, sank down beside him on the bearskin and put her free arm over him, drawing his head to her shoulder. He turned his cheek to her breast, shuddered and was still. Outside she could hear Hakon cursing savagely.

  “I doubted you too, Julitta,” Adam whispered. “Only for a little space, but I doubted you.”

  “There was no other way, Adam. It served.”

  “If it had been so—if I’d gone unsuccored over the cliff—I’d have died thankfully.”

  “Enough, Adam. Rest now.” She smoothed his hair from his brow and kissed him. His arms closed round her in an urgent embrace, he shifted his head slightly and muttered her name. She held him close, in a fury of pity and love for the lad whose world had disintegrated under his feet for the second time in his life. She was all that was left to him now, and he was hers to cherish.

  Astonishingly, he slept. She lay with his slack arms about her, his head heavy on her breast, tears sliding down her cheeks for his misery that was hers through him. She remembered, with a pang, his jesting on the headland four days ago: “The surest way to your tender heart is to be hurt or sick or wretched.” Wryly she recognized the truth that informed most of Adam’s jests; she had not relinquished resentment until she saw him hurt, nor admitted love before it joined with pity and pride at his bearing in humiliation and defeat. Out of all his loss, at least his wife should be a gain to him.

  17

  An hour past noon Julitta and Adam stood on the strand of a cove under towering cliffs, bidding farewell to Erling and Hakon who had set them ashore in the skiff. Erling had done his utmost for them. Each wore a heavy dagger, and Adam had a short sword at his belt. Thick cloaks, rolled and strapped, rode their shoulders. Their ruined shoes had been replaced by seamen’s rawhide brogans, crude ovals of hide stitched to a heel at one end, punched round with holes and drawn up by a thong. Slung at Julitta’s girdle was a bundle of ready-cooked food, buttered oatcakes, cheese and fish enough for two days.

  “It’s little enough, and I wish it were more,” Erling growled, when she tried to thank him.

  “You have our hearts’ gratitude,” Adam told him reaching out both hands.

  “Nay, my lord.” He gripped them warmly. “It’s our profitable future I’m providing for, remember. God keep you safe and bring you to your own again!”

  “God be with you,” Hakon said, his gaze steady on Julitta’s for a long moment. They pushed off the skiff and swung aboard. As their oars dipped Adam turned resolutely to the cliff, and Julitta hitched her gown half-way to her knees, which would have been reckoned unseemly by any peasant wench at field-labor, and followed him up a gully eaten through the rocks by a small stream, offering an easier way up than the rock-face.

  The trees straggled and died out in waves of rank bracken that tipped and flattened into tussocks of bent and bilberry; these leveled in turn into wastes laid flat under the sky, somber miles of heather. The rich hues were fading now with summer’s end, streaked with bilberry’s greenish red and bog’s menacing green, spiked here and there with dark rushes. Grouse called upon them, larks shrilled aloft, and at their backs gulls wailed and spiraled; in a notch of the cliffs Julitta glimpsed the sea. Far above, sailing in giant circles, an eagle waited.

  Adam turned slowly about, scanning the wide desolation. “Do you know these moors, Julitta?”

  She shook her head, “I was never let roam loose, under my uncle’s governance.”

  “Nor do I. We’re about two leagues north of Brentborough, and the moors run north and west. I reckoned if we struck so, along the edge—” he gestured a little north of west—“we’d be outside any hunt after us, and tomorrow we could swing southwest until we came on the York road.”

  It seemed a reasonable proposal. Neither yet knew how unreasonable a terrain the moors presented. They learned. The wide tops lay apparently level, rippling gently under the sun. In fact they were crazily seamed with gullies whose depth varied from several feet to a few inches, the latter offering a peculiar hazard to the limbs, since they were usually masked by vegetation and discovered by falling into them. The close-laced heather grappled their ankles. There were not even animal tracks to follow, for there were no sheep so far from settlements and the deer preferred to keep to the wooded valleys. Bogs waited to entrap the unwary; Adam mired past his knees in one incautious step, and thereafter widely skirted their tufted reeds and inviting green levels.

  Another hour found them on the lower slopes, threading along deer trails between the straggling trees; rough going still, but less risky than the high tops. Neither was accustomed to walking, and unused muscles complained at the steep slopes, but they were young and determined. Adam set an easy pace, and trod in somber silence. Julitta respected it. She was there if he desired speech. She knew the successive blows that had hammered him, could guess at his grieving for his tame bear, and was certain he still endured a blinding headache.
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  After a mile or so they came upon a stream hurrying down from the moors, and halted to drink. Adam knelt and repeatedly dashed water over his face and the contusion under his hair, confirming her diagnosis. He stared bleakly down at his broken reflection a long moment; no youngster could lightly accept permanent disfigurement, and he must have known that his angular features had had a distinction more attractive to women than mere comeliness.

  He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and sat back on his heels, caught her anxious gaze and smiled crookedly. “It’s no matter,” he said. “That is, if—if it doesn’t repel you, Julitta?”

  “How could it?”

  He reached up and drew her to sit beside him, leaning against a rock beside the chuckling stream. After a while she withdrew her hand, hitched round her bundle, took out an oatcake and tore it in two. He ate it cautiously, fragment by fragment, gazing out under the leaves at the bracken rolling up to meet and mingle with the heather.

  “Nothing I could say—nothing would have stopped them,” he said abruptly. “They were determined on a sacrifice—a warning—and my poor fool served their purpose.”

  “You were fond of him,” she said gently, recalling his exasperated indulgence to Odo.

  “The most loyal, willing servant, and the thickest-witted, a man could have. The mischief was, he’d been with me since I was seventeen; he never would admit I was man grown. I suppose he always saw me as the scrawny lad who couldn’t fill the mail my lord bequeathed to me.”

  “You found him Outremer?”

  “He found me. My dear Lord Hugo died there. He rescued me from the monastery, trained and knighted me, and died at the last of a gangrened wound in a stinking Syrian village. So I resolved to quit that pestilent land, and Odo offered his services on the road back, having lost his master and also had his bellyful. We journeyed back to France and got each other into and out of trouble a dozen times on the way, so that it became a habit. Yes, I was fond of him. And now he swings in the wind, and the crows and gulls tear him.” He caught at the rock and wrenched himself erect in one jerk, breathing hard. For a moment he stood with his back to her, gripping the lichened stone with a pressure that whitened his finger tips, then abruptly started along the stream’s bank as if goaded by a devil’s red-hot pitchfork.