by Delle Jacobs
"Aye. Things are changing. But change comes slowly here."
Alain strained his eyes to observe the holding below. He should have been able to see it better. He blinked, squinted, focused again. Ah, that was better. Nay, it blurred again. He shook his head, but the haziness would not dislodge.
"Chrétien," called Alain. "What do you see?"
"I?" Chrétien cocked his head at a curious angle. "I see little of what I expected. Either the knights are hidden, or they are gone. I do not think we could have surprised them."
"Unless there was none to warn them we are coming. Caution, Gerard."
"Nay, lord, look."
As if a maw had sprung open and disgorged itself of its contents, a mass of horses with riders leapt out from the confines of the holding, and dashed toward the far slope. The forest's dark green swallowed up the knights. Only an occasional flash of armor betrayed their path up the hill.
"Go!" shouted Alain.
Gerard sped ahead. Chrétien's grey charger already hurled itself forward to vie for the lead. Down the hillside the knights raced, Saxon and Norman, toward the gaping gate.
"Caution," urged Chrétien as they approached. The great stallions danced within their reins, impatient for a brawl.
Gerard spurred his white horse through the gate, Alain close behind, for he had given this charge to Gerard. The wooden gate hung unevenly, a sign of an unkempt hold. He signaled to Chrétien to chase the fleeing knights. Chrétien bolted away, his knights close behind him.
"What think you, Gerard?"
"That we will find none but villeins. They have fled."
"And a second time, no battle. This country is puzzling."
"Aye."
"Leave some men, and let us join the chase. We may have caught them unprepared. We outnumber them."
"Mayhap. Or they could lead us to more of their kind."
"All the better for us."
Alain spurred away toward the hill. By the time they reached the point where the valley floor met the steeper slope, Gerard joined them again.
"We found no knights within the hold, lord."
Alain nodded and concentrated on the climb ahead as they raced to catch up to Chrétien and the other Normans.
The knights followed the rough trail that paralleled the river as it wound through the woods until it rose from the valley onto the dale's steep slopes. And only the occasional hoof mark showed where a metal shoe struck rock to leave a powdery scar.
The momentary blurriness in his eyes had passed, and Alain focused his attention on the higher slopes and valleys beyond. For all that he could see, the refugees had put sufficient distance between them that they would not be caught.
He was about to call halt to the chase when Gerard raised his hand.
"Wait," called the knight.
Alain's curiosity piqued, he reined in his bay stallion, bringing the animal to a stop beside Gerard.
"It is a trap," said Gerard. "I know this land."
"How so?"
"Beyond the next ridge, the trail narrows beside a steep cliff. There, we must go singly for a ways, and cannot turn around, for the way is barely wide enough for one horse to pass through. Then a wide and shallow slope opens up. They would lay in ambush there. They could pick us off one at a time, and there is naught we could do."
"There is no other way?"
"Aye, there is, but it requires a risk."
"Go on."
"There is another route that takes us around the other side of the mountain, then over the low pass where they will wait. They will not expect you to know that."
"But they may know you are with us."
"Truly said. I could take my men around, while you wait here. You could pretend to look for signs, as if you have lost them, then perhaps give the look that you have left. But you must wait for us to chase them into your hands."
"It requires you to divide your men once again, Alain," said Chrétien.
"Aye. We could all circle around, but then would have none to catch them as they come out."
Gerard's gauntleted hands tensed around the reins and his brown eyes burned with energy. "You must keep them confined to the path near the cliff, and turn their advantage against them."
Alain studied Gerard's intense face, weighed the risks. If Gerard was right, and followed his plan, they would soon have Anwealda's men in their hands, if they had not gone elsewhere instead. But that presented no risk for the moment.
"As it is Anwealda, he knows you well, does he not? Will he not know how you will act?"
"To some extent. But he will not think the great Norman lord will put confidence in the plan of one of my ilk. Yet, he might guess my thinking. And then he will wait at the top of the pass and bear down on us when we are most vulnerable."
"Wallis?" asked Alain, turning to face the sullen Saxon.
"Mayhap he will. Anwealda is clever, and his force is strong. Those who fled his compound were only a portion of his men. Yet he could not have planned an ambush in advance. He had not the time."
"Unless he knew we were coming," said Chrétien.
Hugh shook his head. "Then he would be sitting in that hanging valley with more of his knights. And we trap even more of them. But we could be outnumbered."
Gerard nodded. His intense brown eyes challenged the Norman lord to trust him. Did he dare?
As quickly as the stroke of lightning, Alain raised his arm and jabbed his hand in the direction of the rear pass. Battle fire glowed in the young warrior's eyes as he dashed forth, pursued by his eager knights. And Alain knew he had made the right decision.
The waiting was the hard part, and the illusion of searching for the enemy's tracks. His men dismounted and searched the rocky ground, for the path they believed Anwealda's men had taken was far from the most obvious one. They backtracked to another junction, sent men ahead each way. They returned, tried another path. Anwealda must surely think them stupid. They mulled about, as if confused.
After a short while, they followed a false trail, then returned to where they had been before Gerard had departed.
Great, fierce battle cries rang out from over the ridge. Hooves thundered. Shouts, clashes of metal against metal, and the screams of horses and of men. Alain felt his blood rise, eager to join the fight. He held his ground, as he had promised. He hid his men off the trail where it emerged from the impossibly narrow path that ran by the cliff. The clangor of battle grew louder, horses and men raising shrill cries together.
"Watch closely," he warned Chrétien and Hugh. "Be sure it is Anwealda's men we catch in our snare."
"If Gerard is wrong– "
Alain slanted a worried look at Chrétien. "Then we will lose him. We cannot enter the path without ruining his chances."
"And if he betrays you?"
"He will not, not yet. He would attempt to win my confidence first."
"But he might be better rid of the Normans sooner."
The thunder of hooves echoed off the high stone cliff, and Alain raised his hand, held it high, waiting. Waiting.
The first bloodied rider rode around the ridge. Then another. Alain's upraised hand chopped downward through the air. His knights exploded from the dense forest toward the path.
Chrétien led. The first Saxon raised his blade, but Chrétien struck the first blow. The knight went down. The second knight pushed past, his great horse leaping over the fallen warrior. Two Normans caught him, the blows knocking him from his saddle.
Alain's Normans blocked the upward slope, leaving only the steep, rocky slope below for escape. The next two Saxons leapt from their horses, stumbled down the slope, tripped, fell, and rolled, screaming, downhill.
Alain whirled back to the battle, where two others forced their way through, swords cutting swift arcs in the air. One, his horse reared high, brought his sword down, caught Hugh across his helm. The blow glanced off, then slammed hard on Hugh's mail-covered shoulder. Alain swung his sword and cut the Saxon through his chest.
; The next knight broke free and sped forth along the rain of blows, shield high. Another Norman knight struck low, brought down the horse. The knight fell to his knees, then to the earth, as blows rained on him.
Beyond them, the Saxon knights halted on the cramped confines of the trail, assaulted from behind and ahead. Loud screams echoed from around the curve of the hill, then silence.
Only four knights still rode, their swords and shields thrown down. Alain gave a signal to cease. The remaining Saxons rode forth, lit down from their mounts, knelt before them. All minor knights, the kind who did as their lord demanded, and knew little of great plans. Alain held a kind of pity for them, as he did for all men who lived and died at the behest and whim of others. With a silent nod he accepted their surrender.
Behind them Gerard rode, leading his men, pushing forward past the constricted trail and its sheer cliff. No smile of triumph lit his face, despite his earlier excitement in anticipation of coming battle. Not a true killer, Alain observed, relieved.
Alain felt a sudden kinship to the man then, as he did with Chrétien. Both, like him, would fight because that was what the world demanded of them. Fight or die. Fight or lose to death all those one loved. But they were not eager to kill.
Mayhap then the Lady Melisande, whom Gerard respected, was equally worthy. He doubted Gerard would give his regard lightly.
Gerard had lost no knights, but two were injured. Both could ride. Of his own knights, only Hugh sustained serious injury. But he would heal. The helm had diverted the force of the enemy sword, which may already have been badly dulled from the fighting, and the chain mail had been sufficient to absorb the remainder. But Hugh's arm hung limply from the broken collar bone, and his mail had left its angry imprint on the skin.
"We'll return to Anwealda's holding for the night," Alain decided.
To the four captured Saxon knights, Alain gave back their horses, that they might ride and not slow down their captors as they hastened down the ragged trail to Anwealda's holding. These four, if they sought forgiveness, would pay a price for it. Information was what he wanted.
"Anwealda was not among them," Gerard informed his lord.
"Find out from them where he is, and what are his intentions."
"Wallis will be the man for that, lord. One of them is Cyneric's man, whom he knows."
"So Anwealda and Cyneric plot together?"
"Mayhap, as they both had strong ties with Fyren."
"It makes no sense. With Fyren dead, and his knights in Rufus' hands, they have no power."
"Save with Malcolm, who needs more than just Strathclyde's knights to overwhelm Rufus. Northward of here, none have fortified their holdings into castles in the Norman style. They cannot hold against Rufus without Malcolm."
"Nor is this holding Norman. These walls could hold none but wild dogs back. But not even Fyren's stoneworks make sense to me. Tell me, Gerard, why did Fyren build where he did?"
"It was an ancient monastery, said to have been sacked by Vikings. Fyren merely added to and reinforced what he found."
"He would have been better off to carry away the stones to a better location."
"I am bound to believing the place has secrets neither you nor I know. Fyren was a sly man."
"As in the bolt hole? It is clever enough, but at the same time, it makes the entire castle vulnerable."
"You found it, then?"
"Edyt showed me, after some persuasion."
Gerard's brown eyes narrowed along with his suspicious frown.
Alain studied the man. "I did not hurt her, Gerard. I do not hurt women. I merely persuaded her it was my right to know. You are fond of the girl."
"Aye. She is well liked."
"So much so that you make yourself her protector?"
"As she has no one else, aye. I do the same for any woman. I do not believe men should make war on women and children."
"So I might lose a good knight because of a maid?"
"It could happen."
"And how is it that you find yourself so far north, here in this wilderness?"
"I could not conscience the rapacity of William's knights, nor that of Rufus. I came north looking for better."
"Fyren was better?"
"It was my mistake to trust in the man. But once sworn– "
Alain again surveyed the young knight, found no hint of dishonesty. Did he hold himself to the high honor he expressed? Or was he more clever than Alain thought him to be?
"And who killed Fyren?"
Gerard almost jumped at the startling question. A sly chuckle slipped out. "I did not. And beyond that, I do not care. Only that he is dead."
"He was murdered."
"Mayhap. Or, it was the curse."
"You believe that?"
"I? I believe naught."
Alain let it go. Gerard would reveal no more, for now.
"The sun sets soon. We must be through the walls before then."
"Aye. Let us hurry. The injured will need rest."
Below, the square of grey limestone that formed the walls of Anwealda's holding glowed gold with the late sun. Alain spurred his bay charger ahead, and led the string of knights out of the hills onto the green valley.
* * *
Alain woke in Anwealda's cold and drafty hall. His stomach roiled with nausea from the reeking stench, and his head pounded as if he had drunk all the wine in the buttery.
He had slept on the filthy straw of the earth floor with his men, wrapped tightly in his heavy purple mantle to ward off the cold. The place was easily as primitive and unkempt as it had appeared from his first glance.
He rose to his feet and shook off the moldy straw, feeling odd in the head, as if he still suffered the results of a night's drinking. That did not fit with the facts, for he rarely indulged heavily, and had not done so the previous night. There had been naught with which to indulge, for Anwealda had removed everything of use to a conqueror before departing. There was no food in this place, either, for Anwealda had left his own people to starve.
Ah. Of course he had. Anwealda and his men would be holed up somewhere in the hills with all they had taken. Likely, Dougal's as well. From there they could strike like vipers, coming from nowhere, disappearing into naught. He must find them before Rufus entered the valley.
Several men stirred. Alain signaled to them to wake the remainder. He pulled on his mail and stepped outside, observing the first pink streaks of sunlight on the eastern horizon.
He left the injured knights to rest in the hall, along with those he assigned to defend it, and with them the meager stores they had brought along. Then the Normans rode out, took Dougal's hold as easily as they had Anwealda's. But it, too, was stripped. Only the villeins were left behind. To starve.
* * *
Melisande hurried out from the hall to watch the tired knights as they raised their pennon and rode up to the castle. The gate creaked open, and the weary war horses crossed the wooden bridge in pairs. They were nearly a day late.
Her eyes fixed on the Norman lord's face, and he turned, catching her in the act. She felt a flush rise, and looked away, seeing he was unharmed. Save for what that damnable cloak might be doing to him.
"Supper may still be had, lord," she said with a calm that belied her inner turmoil. "I shall have it reheated."
"Do not wait to reheat it. We have starved for more than a day. We had only what we took along, and had to share with the villeins left behind."
"You were successful?"
"Aye."
A simple exchange. Little more than news and wish-you-wells. But his eyes, like dark charcoal afire, consumed her. She felt charred to ashes by the incendiary gaze. As it had before, her heart began to pummel her chest from inside, and fear flowed through her veins. Want and fear vied for her attention, battled to tear her apart. She almost had to shake her head to break the spell. But it was he who first turned away, then strode up the bailey's slope and entered the hall.
Both relieved and disappointe
d, Melisande called for the kitchen staff to bring back what had already been served, and gave her attention to the wounded men.
"They have set the bone well," she told Hugh, examining his broken collar bone. "It will hold and be straight if you make no attempt to use it. But you will cripple your arm for life and be of no use to anyone if you do not heed me."
Chrétien backed her threat with an order. She treated the raw skin with her ointment.