It was some time later when Wulfgar peered upward and realized that the achingly bright ray that pierced his brain was only a patch of blue sky with black pine branches etched garishly across it. Painfully he raised himself on an elbow and gazed about. His head throbbed and he saw his helmet laying beside him and frowned at the dent across the back. As he raised a hand to cautiously feel the lump on his pate he saw a stout staff of English oak nearby with the heavier end shattered from its length and knew the cause of his acute discomfort. About the road lay scattered the bodies of several townspeople and he spied the leather jerkins of three of his men but of Milbourne he could see no sign.
“Have no fear, Wulfgar. I suspect you’ll yet live this day out.”
The voice came from behind him and though he recognized it in an instant, he rolled heavily over and rested on his elbows as he fought to steady his reeling head and focus his gaze upon Ragnor, who half-reclined on a fallen log with a bloodied sword thrust into the dirt beside him. He laughed in silent glee at Wulfgar’s efforts and wondered at Aislinn’s thoughts if she could but see the brave bastard now.
“ ’Tis a poor place to take repose, Wulfgar,” he grinned and swept his hand indicating the littered lane, “here in the midst of the road where many would do you ill. Indeed, within the last hour I have set to flight a band of hearty Saxons who’d have taken your ears to prove their fortune at finding a Norman resting so.”
Wulfgar shook his head to clear his befuddled brain and half moaned. “Of all those I would have named to save my life, Ragnor, I doubted mightily it would be you.”
Ragnor shrugged. “I but lent an extra arm. Milbourne was quite sorely pressed, yet when I came the Saxons took flight thinking I was no doubt one of many coming.”
“And Milbourne?” Wulfgar questioned.
“He has gone to fetch your men with that peasant you set to guard you. It seemed the Saxon could not reach you in time, at least that is what he said.”
Wulfgar rose to one knee and still smarting from the blow, rested there for the world to right itself. He squinted painfully at the other man, considering this action he had not expected. “I have bought you shame yet you won the day and saved my life. Some poor bargain, I trow, Ragnor.”
“Alas, Wulfgar.” Ragnor waved a hand, brushing off the proffered apology. “In truth both Milbourne and myself thought you dead until we dragged the English away and perceived your breath still stirred the dust.” He smiled slowly. “Can you rise?”
“Yea,” Wulfgar muttered and stood belatedly wiping at the sweaty grime that covered his face.
Ragnor laughed again. “English oak has done for you what well-honed steel could not. Ho, to see you fallen to a peasant’s staff. ‘Twas worth the battle.”
The dark knight also rose and taking up his blade wiped it clean on a peasant’s cloak then pointed to the roadside.
“Your horse stands yonder at the brook.”
Ragnor watched the other go and his face grew dark as he looked at his blade. He had been too hasty to kill the Saxon swine. “Ah,” he murmured to himself, “to ponder on opportunities lost to fate.”
He slammed the sword into its scabbard and turned to mount his own steed. Wulfgar came again to the road leading the Hun and bent to see that he bore no lasting harm from the pitchfork’s welts.
“I bear letters to William from Hastings and I soon must fly,” Ragnor said, his voice emotionless and flat. “Pardon that I do not stay and see you well.”
Wulfgar retrieved his helm and swung into the Hun’s high saddle. He returned the dark knight’s gaze and wondered if Ragnor also thought of another whose healing hands were much more agreeable.
“I, too, must ride on soon but for now yonder burh has earned its right to burn. As soon as it warms the evening air I shall move my men to the next crossroads and there make camp. I bid you thanks, Ragnor.” He drew his sword and saluted him with it, then leaning over flipped his lance up to where he could seize it. He shook the dirt from his pennant. “My men come yonder and I would join them.”
He saluted Ragnor again with the lance and under the lightest touch of spurs the Hun spun on his heels and charged away. Ragnor watched Wulfgar’s back until it disappeared, then reined his horse about in disgust and went his way.
Wulfgar rode to meet his men and saw that only part of them returned with Milbourne. The knight raised his hand and drew up as his captain neared.
“Are you well, Sir Wulfgar,” he questioned and at his leader’s nod he continued with his report. “When the townsmen quit our play, they carried back word of a great Norman force approaching and set the whole town to its heels. They gathered possessions and fled. But Sir Gowain and his men held the road some furlongs away and have turned them back. If we hasten we may halt them yet in the field beyond.”
Wulfgar gave his curt assent and then turned to Sanhurst who lagged back in some shame. He frowned at the young man. “Since you are no benefit guarding my back, stay and bury the dead. When you are done, join us ahead and then you may serve as my lackey.” He raised a brow. “Let us hope you meet more success with that.”
Wulfgar raised his arm and his force set off to do their labors. He led the way with Milbourne keeping pace at his side. The dented helm would no longer fit comfortably upon his bruised head and as Wulfgar hoped to avoid a pitched battle, he rode with it set before him over the high pommel of his saddle and shrugged away Milbourne’s worry. They rode apace through the village square and as they passed the last cottage saw before them some two score and more Saxons of an assorted age, sex and kin. The townfolk saw the force before them and knew of more behind. Then, with fatalistic courage, they formed a tightknit group straddling the road. Mothers pressed their children to the center giving them what protection their own bodies would offer while the men seized whatever weapon was at hand and set themselves in an outer circle for one last battle.
Wulfgar dropped his lance to the ready but halted short of the people while his men circled until they formed a ring all with points lowered and ready to charge. The cold wind blew and the doomed Saxons waited. A long moment passed in silence then Wulfgar raised his helm to full view and his voice rang out harshly as he noted a rustle of amazement at his English words.
“Who plied his staff so strongly against my brow?” He waited until the sheriff moved to face him.
“He fell beside you in the wood,” the man replied. “And for all I know still abides there.”
“ ’Tis a pity,” Wulfgar half sighed. “He was a stout soldier and worth more than a sudden death.”
The sheriff shuffled his feet nervously in the dust but ventured no further comment. Wulfgar raised his lance and set the helm to its place before him but the other lances stayed down, ever threatening.
The Hun pranced, nervous with the tension and Wulfgar spoke a calming word to him and surveyed the huddled mass on the road with steel cold eyes. When his voice sounded again it crackled with authority and none listening could question it.
“You are wards of William, by right of arms, King of England, whether you admit it or not. You may waste your blood here in the dust if you like or you may spend your strength rebuilding your town.”
At these words the sheriff raised his brow and cast an inquiring glance at the still-intact buildings of the shire.
“The choice is simple and will be quickly levied,” Wulfgar continued. “Of that you have my word. But I must urge haste as my men grow anxious and would see their labor done.”
He withdrew a pace and dipped his lance so the sheriff could almost see the point transfixing his own chest. Slowly the man let his sword fall to the ground and dropped his belted seax beside it, turning his hands palm upward and open to show his surrender. The other men followed his action and dropped pitchforks, axes, and scythes until they all stood disarmed.
Wulfgar nodded to his men and the lances rose as one. He spoke once more to the townspeople.
“You have chosen the possessions to take with you. I
hope you have chosen well, for these are what I leave you with. Sir Gowain.” He turned to that young knight. “Take your men and move these people to yonder field and hold them there.” He raised his arm. “The rest of you, follow me.”
Reining the Hun about, he set the great horse flying toward the town. There in the square he gave further orders to Milbourne.
“Search each house and bring out what gold and silver or other worth you may find there. Place them in the cart. Bring also any ready foodstuffs and place them on the stoop of yonder church. As each house is done close the door and mark it. When the village is done, set a torch to every shelter, sparing naught but the church and the graineries.”
Wulfgar then turned and rode to a knoll where he could watch both the people and the town. As the sun sank lower and the shadows lengthened it seemed as if the town with its black stark windows stared aghast as the soldiers ran like ants upon its face taking its wealth, gathering its food. A moment of stillness and the dark eyes reddened as a first flicker of flames began to grow; then a thick red tongue lapped hungrily up a gabled eave. The churning clouds above took on hues of red and orange from the flames and as he lifted his eyes Wulfgar felt the first cold chill of snow upon his cheeks.
The townspeople realized the fruit of the Norman labor and a low moan came to Wulfgar as their voices raised in anguished protest. Now his men withdrew from the town, hauling the creaking cart behind them and he descended from the hill in a rush of hooves, his mood blackened by what he had wrought. He came to a skidding halt before the Saxons and they cowered in fear before his towering rage.
“Watch!” he roared. “And know that justice is swift in William’s land. But I bid you heed me. I will return again this way to see what you have done, thus I charge you build again and know as you labor that you build this time for William.”
The snowflakes fell in earnest now and Wulfgar knew that he must hurry for there was still some way to go and a sheltered camp must be laid against the storm. He pointed his lance down the darkening road and the last of his men withdrew, falling in behind the heavily laden cart. Wulfgar bent his gaze a last time to the roaring flames eating at the village’s walls and the growing column of smoke that flayed away as the wind whipped it in a great spiral. He shouted above the noise to the sheriff.
“You have shelter left and meager food and winter draws near.” He laughed. “I vow you will have no time for battling other Normans.”
He raised his lance in a last salute and kicked the Hun after his departing troops as the villagers watched them go. The people finally turned, their defeat written upon their faces, yet deep within each heart they knew what he had destroyed could be replaced. He had left them with life and with life they could build again.
The fresh coverlet of white crunched coldly beneath her feet as Aislinn made her way from her mother’s cottage to the hall. Darkness had settled with an ear-nipping chill and errant flakes of snow swirled and danced through the few stray beams of light that crossed her path. She lifted her gaze to a featureless black sky that seemed to glower close above the rooftops and press her world to a narrow slice between it and the hard-frozen earth. Aislinn paused in her stride and let the stillness of the night ease her troubled spirit. After spending time with her mother she always felt drained of strength and somehow a little less capable of facing the plaguing doubts that seemed to belabor what confidence she could muster, until she swore another day would see her broken and begging for mercy. With each day’s passing her mother slipped deeper into delusions that demanded revenge on the Normans. If Maida succeeded in her vengeance, William’s justice would seek her swiftly. Aislinn knew of no potion that would help in drawing out the festering hatred that twisted her mother’s reasoning. She felt deep frustration that she could be of benefit to others, curing their ailments and healing their wounds, yet could do nothing for her only kin.
An icy tingle of snowflakes upon Aislinn’s face refreshed her, and with a quicker step she hurried to the hall. As she drew near, she noticed a cart drawn up before the doors. She casually mused on what poor soul was seeking shelter at Darkenwald this cold night and if he would find compassion in Gwyneth where others could not. That one’s evil humor, crudely bent upon the hearty appetites of serf and soldier, was not warranted to stop there but quite often extended to the embarrassment of visitors and family alike. Gwyneth ridiculed her father and Sweyn behind their backs because they were prone to indulge themselves with meat and drink now and then, being of sturdy frame. Though in truth Bolsgar and Sweyn supplied the game that graced the tables and kept hunger well away from the manor’s door. Even the kindly Friar Dunley found himself the recipient of malevolent thrusts of Gwyneth’s aspish tongue when he came.
Thus conditioned to expect the worst from Gwyneth’s irate disposition, Aislinn pushed open the door and set it closed again before glancing at the group before the hearth. With deliberate slowness she doffed her heavy woolen mantle and approached the warmth of the fire, looking first to Bolsgar to determine the temperament of his flaxen-haired daughter. When Gwyneth raged, Bolsgar frowned and grew tight-lipped. But for the moment he seemed relaxed and feeling some relief, Aislinn turned her attention to the three roughly dressed adults and the children who huddled near the blazing fire.
The youngest lad gaped in awe at the brilliant copper tresses that curled around her shoulders. His stare brought a smile to Aislinn’s lips and his dark eyes twinkled back in immediate friendship. She was not met with amity when she faced the younger of the two women, however. Indeed the other seemed to regard her with great wariness and hung back from the group, eyeing her every move. Aislinn could not mistake the similarity she bore the boy and assumed that if not mother and son, they were surely closely related.
The man, Aislinn saw, was pale and trembling and wore his weariness in a tightly drawn face. His wife stood quietly at his side, watching all that transpired. Aislinn sensed here a deep wisdom and calm strength and returned the slow smile the woman gave.
The other youths were older than the dark-eyed boy. There was a large lad perhaps as old as Ham, a younger girl who barely showed the first bloom of womanhood, and a pair of boys that Aislinn could tell no difference between.
“We had almost given you up for lost, Aislinn.”
She turned in wary alertness for Gwyneth had spoken with a hint of courtesy in her voice and that alone was enough to put Aislinn’s defenses in high key. She did not know the game but waited, outwardly calm and poised as the woman drew the moment out.
“We have guests come from Wulfgar,” Gwyneth continued and watched a new spark of interest light the violet eyes. Lifting a hand toward the group she called them by name and then added, seeming pleased, “He has sent them here to live.”
“It is so, my lady,” Gavin nodded. “My brother, Sanhurst, is with him even now.”
“And my lord? Is he well?” Aislinn inquired, her voice warm and friendly.
“Yea, the Norman is fit,” the man replied “He pulled us from the mire and we made camp with him on that night. He gave us food and bade us journey here.”
“Did he say his length of stay?” Aislinn questioned. “Will he be coming home to Darkenwald soon?”
Gwyneth sneered. “You betray your lust for him, Aislinn.”
A rosy hue stained Aislinn’s cheeks but Gavin replied kindly:
“No, my lady. He did not say.”
Gwyneth’s gaze passed from Aislinn to the young widow who studied the other intensely, her eyes measuring Aislinn’s trim frame and the swirling copper hair that fell past her hips. Gwyneth’s eyes sharpened and gleamed as she thought of her next words, a small lie but one that would serve her purpose well.
“Wulfgar has bade Haylan and her son in particular to abide here at Darkenwald.”
Aislinn knew the sharp edge beneath Gwyneth’s words as she glanced at the widow whose eyes had widened considerably. Haylan now managed a tremulous smile under her regard, but Aislinn could not find it in her to
return the gesture.
“I see,” she said. “And you have made them welcome, Gwyneth. Wulfgar will be pleased with your kindness.”
Gwyneth’s pale eyes grew cold. “Since I am his sister, should I not know that much better than you?” A sharp ear could have detected the bitter harshness in her tone. “Wulfgar is a most gracious lord. He even treats slaves more kindly than they deserve and clothes them richly.”
Aislinn feigned a moment of confusion, knowing well the woman made reference to her. “Truly? Forsooth, I had noticed none save you, dearest Gwyneth, more finely garbed than they were before.”
A smothered chuckle shook Bolsgar’s great shoulders and Gwyneth gave him a murderous look. It was well known that she had taken full possession of Aislinn’s few remaining gowns and made no secret of the seizure. Gwyneth now sat in the younger woman’s mauve gunna while Aislinn herself wore the somewhat frayed gown she had always donned when cleaning was to be done. Now it was her best and only one.
Gwyneth’s voice rose cuttingly. “It has always struck me odd how a man can swear faithfulness to a woman and then when gone from her side immediately seek the more available warmth at hand. It must be doubly dear that Wulfgar would find a form so comely that he should send it to his home to await his return.”
Haylan choked and coughed to catch her breath, drawing Aislinn’s immediate attention. She frowned slightly at the widow, wondering what had transpired between her and Wulfgar to make her act in such a manner.
With quiet dignity Aislinn spoke. “Wulfgar is much of a stranger to all. Not one here can truthfully say they know him well enough to judge what his worth might be, if any. As for myself, I only pray that he is honorable and will not play the knave. Time alone will bring the answer to us, and I will rest my fate upon my trust in him.”
The Wolf and the Dove Page 27