Fire Dance

by Delle Jacobs

  "So, Wallis, you agree that Anwealda's fort, as it is, is not of much value."

  "Aye, lord. We lost several men, and would have lost all of them, had we not come upon them when we did. Anwealda's knights were already within the gate, and very nearly succeeded in closing it on us."

  "Even then, we could have taken it," said Gerard, "but our losses would have been heavy."

  "Then all agree, the fort should be improved. Mayhap, even demolished and rebuilt."

  "Aye, eventually," said Chrétien, "but there is no time."

  "For stone work, aye. But one of the old kind, a motte and bailey, could be thrown up in a matter of weeks. The location is good, but the walls weak and too easily scaled. But a tall palisade would take little time."

  "But even weeks, Alain, do we have that?"

  "I know not. But we must do something to strengthen the position."

  "We could dig the moat, though I think it cannot go very deep before reaching bedrock," suggested Gerard. "Hugh has already thought of the moat, and the dirt would have to go somewhere, so why not also build a mound?"

  "And build a tower on the mound. Then if time permits, ring the wall with more towers."

  "Does Anwealda have no foot soldiers?"

  "He has them," said Wallis, "and he will use them when he sees fit."

  "Aye," replied Gerard, "but not as long as he must strike like a snake, for they move too slowly. A motte is a good idea, but all of Hugh's men, including his knights, will not be enough. He will need more villeins if he is to build a palisade."

  "Then send him some."

  "They will not want to go this time of year," said Thomas. "There is much with the land that needs to be done."

  "Then reward them. And any man who stays behind, if he will help with his neighbor's land while he is gone."

  "Reward?"

  "Aye. Mayhap a day off their servitude."

  The Saxon knights, with their pure blue eyes, stared at each other in disbelief. The Normans drank from their cups with bemused smiles curling on their lips.

  Thomas nearly stood in his anxiety. "But lord, if every one gave a day less, how would the demesne function?"

  "It is a time of sacrifice. We will sacrifice, too. As for the villeins, Thomas, none know better than they how much the poor peasants suffer in times of war. We risk our lives, but they risk even their families, and all they own. If we can hold back Anwealda and his men and give Rufus an uneventful pass through the Vale, they will suffer far less."

  The Saxon girl was watching him again, as solemn as she ever had been, her thoughts beyond discerning. What he would give to see a smile on her face.

  He could not think of her without also thinking of the unwilling bride, wishing instead she might be this fascinating girl. He had always assumed that the maid to whom Rufus had betrothed him had not much to offer. Neither beauty nor intelligence. Nor skills, save with the needle, as was the way among most ladies of class. Else, why had Rufus extracted such a strange promise from him?

  He had been willing enough, for the sake of having his own fief, but he had expected little. It was the price he paid, and in doing so, he met Rufus' need for a strong northern border.

  She might be passably pretty. Even Rufus had assumed that, for he had memories of her beautiful mother from his own childhood. But none said as much. And it seemed to him she was more likely to be a timid little thing, thin, un-glorious hair, with a tiny squeaky voice. That much did make sense. Such a creature would run and hide easily, rather than stand to fight. And men felt obliged to protect such a meek and fragile one, who surely could not defend herself.

  Aye, that could explain Rufus' command that he take the girl as he found her. Somewhat undesirable, but bringing great lands, wealth, and power with her wedding. Yet at her behest her knights willingly followed him, while bidding him to leave the girl alone and cease searching for her.

  Then there was this vibrant maid to whom all these Saxons deferred without even thinking. Deferred to her, to this mere slip of a foundling. Alain rubbed his hand over his chin and his scratchy beard. Aye, they did. It was Edyt who ran this hall, and mayhap it was not the girl's connection to the lady that gave her such power. Once again he eyed the enigmatic Edyt, so much like, and yet so different from, most of the others of the hall.

  Mayhap there was a contender for the missing bride, after all.

  * * *

  Yesterday, the cat had come to her where she stood in the bailey, rubbed its great furry, red body against her legs, and she had bent to pick it up. He had wondered then if the cat sought her out because its mistress was missing.

  Today, he watched again from the slit window in his chamber, as King Rufus, King of All the Upper and Lower Bailey, strode purposefully across the bailey, straight for her, ignoring all comers. Carters, wagons, even brave knights moved out of the cat's way and let it pass.

  After the animal had taken several rubbing passes against her legs, she reached down for the cat. She flopped the big fellow over on its back in her arms, and scratched distractedly at the exposed belly. The cat leaned back its head to bare its throat, which she also obligingly scratched.

  Many people took well to cats. It proved nothing. Any more than the fact that she spoke to everyone in passing, or that she treated the hall as if it were her own. All those had rational explanations. And all he really had was a nimble imagination. And over-active glands.

  But what if she were his missing Melisande? She had come to know him in these few days, and seemed to have no distaste for him. Wary and skittish she was, it was true. But he had felt real passion in her with that kiss. Then why would she keep up this facade if she was the lady in hiding?

  Because she wanted something. Something she must have before disappearing into Scotland beyond his reach.

  What? His hand closed around the small Celtic ring that hung on the twisted cord about his neck. He caught the tip of his smallest finger in it, yet it would not pass even beyond his fingernail.

  The ring. Could that be the reason she had invaded his chamber? To find the ring? Surely it was not worth so very much. Not nearly as much as the ring he had brought to place on his bride's finger. Might it hold a hidden message? He held it up to the light and searched inside the band, but saw only the pure, smooth gold surface. Outside, the interlaced pattern continued around the surface without variation. If some message lay within its design, he could not tell it.

  The purple cloak. The girl had a covert obsession with it. For all that she professed a distaste for it, he had seen her eyes almost feast on its magnificence. Yet, she loathed it.

  Two people have died in it.

  How did she know? It was said only the Lady Melisande herself had been with Fyren in the end.

  Ordinary gossip could account for that.

  I– fold things.

  An entire chest of perfectly folded garments sat in the lady's chamber, save those few doffed and thrown in, in haste. But Melisande had no personal servant. So, had the lady who neatly folds things left in a hurry, leaving everything she valued behind, in order to appear to be a servant?

  Aye, if Edyt was Melisande, mayhap she wanted the cloak, and disguised her truer feeling. But why? It had a weighty feel to it, and he had assumed that to be the result of the marvelous embroidery with gold and silver thread. But might it hide something else of even greater value?

  Come now, he would have noticed. As he had noticed her covetous, loathing gaze on it.

  Foundling? It was a plausible explanation for a girl who had no apparent family, yet had position. And unusually convenient.

  He recalled the cracks in Edyt's demeanor, that occasional flash of defiance few servants would dare to show. True, he had also seen it in Thomas and Gerard, but that was a different case.

  But the girl enchanted him. Might she not be just the sort of wife he had always hoped to have? Might he hope, or was he merely fooling himself?

  He had always hoped for a wife of strong character, one such a
s Chrétien's wife, Heloise, had been. A wife that Chrétien had so loved and respected that after her death he would not take another. Nor land, nor fief, nor anything else that smacked of permanence.

  Unlike Chrétien, Alain was not so scarred in his soul that he could not run such a risk. But Chrétien's suffering had taught him also to be wary. He wanted what Chrétien had once had, but he also knew its rarity. Such love carried a high price. Mayhap that was why so few people recognized its existence.

  Aye, that was it. She reminded him of Chrétien's Heloise, a lady who had known more than how to push a needle through cloth. Such a lady might be more common in this wild north land where everyone must do his part.

  Still not enough to go on. And why?

  It appeared that everything the girl did as Edyt was a sham. Not simply the masquerade, but the manipulations to gain control again. Worse, she retained control over the people themselves, more than he had. He could be sitting in the middle of a very big trap, and she the cheese. Mayhap he was not the hunter and she the prey, but exactly the opposite. If so, he was the biggest fool of all. The more he thought of it, the more his frustration grew.

  He turned the wooden maser around in his hands, studying it, not liking the direction his thoughts were taking. It was about time to get the girl off his mind.

  He wondered how Thomas was doing with his recruitment, and headed down the wooden stairs to join the gathering crowd. Ahead of him, he caught glimpses of the silver-haired man as he walked with Chrétien and Gerard down the dirt lane in the village, summoning villein and cotter to assemble within the castle walls.

  Beyond, he could see men leaving their fields as wives and sons carried the news to them. How would it go if he did not command them, but gave incentive, instead? Would they follow their new lord if he did not lay lash to their backs? Or would he find that the old way was the only way?

  Once in the lower bailey, he stood aside as the steward addressed the crowd. Thomas was a pleasant-mannered man. His silvery hair raised at one side of his balding pate like a flag in the stiff wind.

  Thomas spoke to them as men, rather than the unfree that they were. He told them of the coming conflict, reminded them that those such as they always suffered the most from war. And he told them the building of the motte and bailey at Anwealda's holding would bring them more safety by giving Rufus peaceful access through the Vale.

  "But," he said, "the lord does not wish to force such service on anyone. He offers instead, a day's relief in your service to the lord, one for each sennight you give. Some must go to provide labor for the castle, but others will be given relief for helping their neighbors who are gone."

  Thomas paused, and let the odd proposal sink in. First there was silence, then a low buzz began, that gained in strength, yet did not become intelligible.

  "Who will go by his own choice?" he asked.

  None stirred from the crowd. Suspicious eyes fell on Thomas, then their new lord. What did they think of it? Thomas held great respect among the common folk.

  But their lord did not.

  "Think of your lands, your crops ripped from the ground, your wives and children going hungry for their lack. Your lord wishes to protect you. But he needs your help to do it."

  The mumble ebbed and flowed, but still none stepped forward.

  Alain's gaze slanted sideways to observe Gerard standing beside Edyt, his arms folded and a heavy frown across his face. She spoke a few words, her mouth hardly moving. Neither looked at the other.

  Without so much as a nod, Gerard moved away, as if he merely sought a better place to view the assembly. He then stood next to the tanner, who stood beside the smith. He also spoke no more than a few words. The tanner nodded, returned to watch the steward who called for the aid of the village. Then he gave the knight a pleasant nod and moved off. As did the smith.

  Alain watched the word spread through the crowd. Now, one by one, men stepped forth to volunteer their service.

  Clever.

  If he had not been watching at the very minute she spoke, he would not have made the connection. Mayhap it was a mere suggestion that she had made. Clearly something she had said had this effect. Mayhap, as he had originally suspected, Edyt had close ties to the lady, who was hidden somewhere within the village, or close by. Or–

  Again, Alain decided not to question the suspicious behavior, for it would merely put them on their guard. And, with the press of other problems, their guard did appear to be slipping. He would keep watching.

  Satisfied that Thomas would have sufficient men to build the motte, Alain moved away from the crowd. Chrétien joined him.

  "What think you, Chrétien?"

  "There will be enough. But I worried at first."

  "I value your concern. But did you not notice anything else?"

  "It seemed odd, I thought, as if they suddenly changed their minds, all of a piece."

  "I thought the same. Our lady may be amongst them. Mayhap her word changed their minds."

  "You have a thought who?"

  "I have a suspicion. Mayhap, we have but to watch."

  "Aye. Whoever she is, she is an odd sort, Alain."

  "Mayhap."

  "Or we do not know what moves her, and this makes her seem odd."

  Alain smiled. "In that way, everyone here seems odd. Do you not agree?"

  "And so you will not tell me where your suspicion falls?"

  "Let us see instead if yours will fall in the same place."

  Chrétien grinned back. Evidently he had his own unspoken suspicions.

  * * *

  "I suppose we shall manage," said Thomas, his brow folded in a deep fret. "But it will be very hard to keep track of the lord days owed to the manor, if each villein serves differently."

  Alain regarded the silver-haired knight who stood beside him as they surveyed the loading of carts in the bailey. He never bragged about his abilities to read and figure, but he was secretly proud of it, and understood, as an uneducated man could not, just how useful it was. For all that Thomas might know in his head, or keep count on his tally sticks, he could not compare with what a man might keep on parchment.

  "Is it true you do not read, Thomas? Nor keep accounts?"

  "Nay." The knight’s pale grey eyes narrowed as he turned back to watch the carters. "Edyt keeps the tallies."

  "A maid? How is that so?"

  Thomas would not be caught in that trap. The man smiled triumphantly. "She was the Lady Edyt's most apt pupil. The lady was proud of her namesake."

  Alain grumbled a grudging thanks and left to find the girl. Since he had promised relief for his villeins, he'd best find out what it was going to cost him. Thomas might think it beyond manageable. But Fyren had done some unusual things, not all of which needed to continue.

  He would see what Edyt had to say about that, as well, giving him another opportunity to probe her secrets. The idea couldn't seem to leave his head. Could he not pry from her the cause of her distress? If it was distress, and not instead very skillful maneuvering. This time, he would resolve it.

  He found her with a broom, sweeping the floor of the great hall, in preparation for the spreading of fresh rushes. He smiled. He had no quarrel with her management, and had not seen another hall kept so clean. A sharp catch in his throat brought him back to his problem.

  "A word with you, Edyt."

  Without a word, she set aside the broom, leaving a small pile of debris from the rushes that had already been removed.

  "In my chamber."

  She followed him up the stairs in her usual silent fashion. He closed the door behind her. The wariness in her eyes increased. Perhaps he should put her at ease first.

  "Have you ever seen a map, Edyt?"

  "Nay."

  Alain rolled out the crude drawing he had made, and pointed out to her the landmarks he had found significant.

  "But it is not correct," she protested.

  "I know that, as I have only guessed. But in what way?"

  "Y
ou have placed Cyneric's holding too far to the east. It is to be found in the Mallerstang Common which you have not placed on the map."

  Alain stared at her, astonished. "You can read?"

  Her face paled. "Aye," she stammered. "I know a little Latin, as well. Is there something wrong with that?"

  "It is uncommon, save for ladies of great families. How do you come to know?"

  A light pink flush formed on her cheeks. "I learned from the Lady Edyt. Some others did, as well, but most did not want to learn. She found me useful for the household accounts, and for writing letters and other things."