by Maura Seger
William sat before a low camp table on which maps were spread. He looked much as Brenna remembered; tall, well-built, remorseless. The smile he permitted so often at Falaise was missing. He wore chain mail and a long sword buckled to his side. His conical helmet rested on the table beside him. He needed to bathe and shave, but seemed unharmed. A solemn-faced priest stood nearby, clear reminder that William had invaded with papal approval. Spying Edythe, the clergyman whispered something to his lord.
Whatever he said had no effect. While the priest stared at her in offended shock, Edythe was courteously received by the Duke. He rose and met her halfway across the tent. "My lady, I cannot say you are expected, but you are welcome. Be assured everything will be done for your safety and comfort."
If she was surprised by William's graciousness, Edythe gave no sign. Holding herself stiffly, she said, "You know why I have come, sir. Where is my lord?"
William sighed. He returned to the table, gesturing Edythe to take the seat near him. Quietly, he said, "Harold is here. At least, we think he is."
Brenna frowned at the words, puzzled. But Edythe seemed to understand them. She blanched, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. "You are not sure?"
The Duke looked at her closely, as though trying to gauge her strength. After a moment, he shook his head. "Alas, no. You will understand that we wish to be certain. But circumstances are such that there is some disagreement."
So softly that the Norman had to lean closer to hear her, Edythe said: "I can be of assistance to you."
Brenna's gaze went from her sister to the Duke in bewilderment. Her arms ached from holding Alain so long, but she barely noticed it. William's attention was focused on Edythe, but when the baby nuzzled Brenna's breast, the motion caught his eye. The Duke's gaze swept over her, registering the changes that had in no way impaired her beauty. Most particularly, he took in the fact of the infant she cradled. Speculation fled as he noticed the soft, golden hair, unmistakable features, and tawny eyes. A slight smile touched his hard mouth. It was a day for surprises.
Abruptly, William nodded. "Your help would be appreciated, my lady."
"It is not offered freely," Edythe informed him.
William brushed that aside. "We will discuss what you want later. Now I suggest you accompany my knights. They will take you to your lord."
As Edythe rose, Brenna turned to accompany her. She settled Alain more comfortably against her, wondering how soon she would be able to nurse him. He was hungry and her breasts ached with milk. Her free hand caressed the child's cheek tenderly when a sound at the front of the tent caught her attention. She looked up just as Guyon entered. Frozen in place, Brenna could not move or speak. She stood powerless, clasping their child, as her husband stared at her.
Chapter Seventeen
Brenna's gaze devoured him ardently. For long moments, she forgot where she was and what terrible events had brought her there. Her fevered dreams of the last months had not been in error. Guyon was every inch as magnificently male as she remembered.
His hair, tousled and begrimed though it was, glowed like spun sunlight. Deeply tanned, his rugged features were no less handsome for being caught in stunned surprise. Beneath his armor, his tall, powerful body moved gracefully. AH the love that possessed her swelled within Brenna, threatening to burst her heart.
After the first piercing moment of awareness, her eyes moved over him apprehensively. His chain mail was gashed near the left shoulder, but there was no sign of bleeding. Other numerous cuts and tears had not penetrated beneath the layers of metal sewn to toughened leather. One wrist sported a livid bruise, but there again a mail glove had saved him. Reassured that he carried no wound, Brenna blushed as she became aware of a scrutiny no less keen than her own.
After dwelling hungrily on her face, Guyon's gaze drifted down over her body, only to be stopped abruptly by the sight of the infant in her arms. He gasped and took a quick step forward. She had to force herself to stand perfectly still as a hard, callused hand lifted the edge of the blanket from Alain's face. Thick, golden lashes fluttered momentarily against apricot-tinged cheeks. He made a soft mew of protest at the disturbance, but did not wake. Blissfully unconcerned about anything other than a full stomach and dry wrapper, the baby slept on. Guyon in no way matched his son's serenity. His hand shook as he carefully replaced the blanket. The eyes he raised to Brenna's were dark with shock. "W-when...?
Brenna's stomach lurched. If she had been in full possession of herself, she would have realized the question was perfectly natural. But the horrors she had just passed through banished reason. To her, it seemed only that Guyon was asking when the baby was born because he doubted his parentage. Grimly, she remembered the old joke that few men could count above nine, but that they always managed perfectly. A choking sense of betrayal filled her. She was perversely glad when the Duke's interruption prevented her from responding.
"Guyon, you are here. Good. I want you to escort the Lady Edythe to the medical tent."
Tearing his eyes from Brenna, albeit with great difficulty, Guyon objected. "But my lord, surely you do not mean..."
"The Lady," William interjected, "has offered to assist us. Since our purposes agree with hers, I have agreed." More gently, he added, "Do you suggest I send someone else with her?"
Unspoken was the reminder that Guyon, through his marriage, was the Lady Edythe's kinsman. It was his right, indeed his obligation, to stand beside her. Compassion swept over him as he gazed at the silent, white-faced woman. The two sisters might not resemble each other, he thought ruefully, but when it came to strength and courage they were a match. Holding out a hand, he said softly, "If you will allow me...
Edythe nodded distantly. A merciful blanket of numbness was settling over her, preparing her for what was to come. She rose, taking Guyon's arm. He supported her unobtrusively, feeling the slight quiver that ran through her slender form.
"Your wife may await you here," the Duke was saying. Before Brenna could do more than open her mouth to object, Guyon shook his head. His gaze held hers as he said. "I believe my lady prefers to accompany her sister."
William hesitated, thinking any woman, particularly one so shortly come from childbed, should be spared the sight of what lay in the medical tent. But he was not disposed to interfere between a man and wife. Shrugging, the Duke stepped aside.
Following Guyon and Edythe from the tent, Brenna took some little comfort in the fact that he had referred to her as "my lady." At least there was to be no outright repudiation until they could talk further. Crossing the camp, she kept her eyes averted. Curious stares burned into her back and she was all too aware of the muttered comments. The rage of battle had not quite died away. Only the Duke's absolute authority and Guyon's presence kept them from being challenged.
Pausing before the tent, Guyon spoke softly to his sister-in-law. He tried one last time to convince her not to go on. When she insisted, he turned to Brenna. "I understand your wish to be with Edythe, but I cannot let you go inside without preparing you. What you will see is very bad. We believe Harold died quickly, but what happened afterward was an atrocity."
Brenna swallowed hard. Since encountering the defeated English troops, she had fought against the realization that the King must be dead. He was not a man to surrender. Forced at last to face the truth, she was hard pressed to keep from crying out in anguish. Only the knowledge that Edythe needed her held her still.
Sunlight filtering through the open tent flap fell across a small space empty except for a priest keeping vigil over a blanket-covered form. The man looked up in surprise when they entered. Anything he might have said was silenced by Guyon's harsh look. Unable to leave without a formal dismissal, the priest still managed to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. He all but faded into the tent wall as Guyon knelt beside the body. Gently he drew aside the blanket.
Bile rose in Brenna's throat. She covered her mouth to keep from screaming. Instinctively, she tried to move between her sister
and the pitiful remains of what had been Harold Godwinson. But Edythe forestalled her. Kneeling next to Guyon, she reached out a trembling hand to touch her lord. Her mouth quivered helplessly and spasms wracked her body, but she made no sound.
Smothering her horror, Brenna drew closer. She took a deep breath, holding it and all else within her as she lowered herself beside Edythe. For long moments she looked only at her sister, watching as the deep blue eyes grew luminescent. Tears slid mutely down her ashen cheeks. A chill danker than the grave radiated from her. But for the tears which now flowed freely, she might have been carved from living stone. Nothing less than courage born of the greatest love enabled her to confront the horror before them.
Harold's eyes had been gouged out. One leg and part of an arm were missing. He bore the marks of countless sword stabs inflicted after death, and he had been castrated. It was doubtful his own mother could have recognized him. But to Edythe there was no question of his identity.
On what remained of his chest, she saw the scar inflicted in the last battle against the Welsh. On the intact arm was the lesion received accidentally on the training field when he was fifteen. Near his collarbone, she saw the mark left by a flying ember which had struck him one Christmas five years before. The hand she lifted to her lips still bore the mole she had always teased him about, calling it a beauty spot. A low moan tore from her as she bowed her head, cascades of coppery hair trailing across the mutilated flesh.
"It is he?" Guyon asked thickly.
Unable to speak, Edythe could only nod. She clasped the hand more closely to her as her body began to rock back and forth. For long moments, neither Guyon or Brenna moved. All differences were forgotten. Their common humanity recoiled from a sacrilege nothing could excuse.
At last, Guyon gathered himself and rose. Gently but determinedly, he lifted Edythe from the floor. When she did not relinquish Harold's hand, Brenna took it from her tenderly, lowering it next to his body. With reverence, she replaced the blanket before joining her husband and sister at the door. The last of Edythe's strength gave way. Her legs buckled just as Guyon swept her up, carrying her back to William's tent. Once there, he set her carefully on a bench before removing his cloak and wrapping it around her. The Duke, who had been speaking with some of his lieutenants, dismissed them immediately upon their return. He looked questioningly at Guyon, who nodded, then poured a goblet of wine and placed it in Edythe's hand. After a moment, he murmured, "I want you to know that the men responsible for the atrocity have already been sent back to Normandy. I want none such in my service."
Edythe did not seem to hear him. She ignored the wine, which slipped unheeded from her grasp. Guyon caught the goblet, setting it back on the table. Sitting down beside her sister, Brenna embraced her tightly. Wordlessly, she tried to share her own strength and warmth. But Edythe seemed beyond any reach. Her voice, when she finally spoke, seemed to come from a great distance. "My lord must be buried. With the proper rites."
William hesitated barely an instant before nodding.
Without showing any awareness of that gesture, Edythe continued dully. "I will take him back to Winchester... to the cathedral there. It is the only church he really liked. He said it made him feel closer to God. He will lie there, undisturbed...." Her voice droned on, until another spasm wracked her body and she fell silent once more.
William sighed. A deep frown etched his forehead. Slowly, he said, "I have agreed that the late King will receive proper burial. Nothing more."
Several seconds passed before his meaning reached Edythe. When it did, she looked up swiftly. "You mean I cannot...?"
"You cannot remove his body," William said flatly. "There must be no shrine to a martyred English king, and that is exactly what his grave would become if I allowed you to do as you wish." Looking away, the Duke concluded, "I will go so far as to allow your kinsman, Guyon, to supervise your lord's internment. But more I cannot do. Now you must leave here."
"L-leave?" Brenna choked, barely able to suppress a scream of denial. Alain whimpered as her grip on her sister tightened and he was squeezed between them.
"The Lady Edythe must leave," William explained tonelessly. "I will grant safe passage to her and her children, but only if she agrees to depart England as quickly as possible. Were she in full possession of her faculties," he added determinedly, "she would see the wisdom of this."
Brenna was beyond speech. She could only shake her head in dazed disbelief. Guyon's voice, speaking to her urgently, barely penetrated her tortured mind. "There is no choice, Brenna. It must be like this." He faltered, then went on, "I know you need some time alone with Edythe. The Duke and I will... see to the arrangements..."
William nodded quickly, glad of an excuse to leave the tent. Witnessing Edythe's agony, it was all too easy to think how but for the luck of a final, desperate charge, the grief-stricken widow would have been his Lady Matilda. Outside in the sunlight, he could give silent thanks for his life without feeling profane.
When they were alone in the tent, Brenna did not move or speak for long moments. An agonizing struggle waged within her as she fought to regain control. When her heartbeat at last slowed and her breath steadied to less than painful gasps, she found the wine goblet and lifted it again to Edythe's colorless lips.
This time her sister managed to drink a little. When she seemed somewhat more aware of her surroundings, Brenna asked softly, "You heard...?"
Edythe nodded mutely. Her eyes were dark pools of suffering as she murmured, "I should have known he would not let me take him. He is truly merciless."
"He will spare the children," Brenna reminded her desperately. Instinct made her try to focus
Edythe's mind on the future. Anything to keep the dark mists of despair from claiming her.
"The children..." A tiny flicker of light appeared in Edythe's eyes. "The children... I must get them away... Quickly... Before he changes his mind." Straightening slightly, she said, "Harold has a foster brother in Ireland. We can go there. Before the weather worsens." A hint of wistfulness entered her voice. "We were there before, you remember? Years ago when all the Godwinsons were exiled. Such a beautiful country. I was happy there..."
"And the children will be safe," Brenna said swiftly. "You can get them beyond harm in less than a fortnight, if messengers are sent to Winchester at once and the packing begun."
"It has already started. I gave instructions to pack before we came here."
Brenna stiffened. "You knew."
A long sigh escaped Edythe. "I... felt so cold... As though something deep within me was ending. Not even when our mother died or when I lost my fourth son so shortly after his birth did I feel that way. There was no doubt of the cause."
Blinking back tears, Brenna nodded. She could not help but contrast her own certainty that Guyon was still alive with what that same inner sight had meant to Edythe. To live with such knowledge... She trembled.
Edythe needed no words to understand what was passing through her sister's mind. Tenderly, she reached out to stroke her cheek. "Brenna... you must know... if you wish to come with me, I would be glad to have you." Before the younger girl could do more than start in surprise, she added, "But somehow I do not think this is a journey you can make."
Brenna's tears, sliding unheeded down her alabaster cheeks, fell against Alain's downy softness. The child stirred restlessly, reaching out a small, dimpled hand to knead her breast. Swallowing hard, she murmured, "Whether or not Guyon believes this is his son, I must try to convince him. I love them both far too much to give up now. We belong together."
Edythe nodded slowly. She was silent for several minutes before the neighing of horses and the sounds of men just beyond the tent reminded her of time passing. Her head lifted as she glanced round, as though awakening from a long dream. "Then there is nothing more for me here," she murmured, "and I must go."
Brenna rose with her. Together they left the tent and went to join the housecarls, already mounted and waiting. Norman knig
hts surrounded them, but there was no sign of the Duke or Guyon. Heedless of the many watching eyes, the sisters embraced.
"Be strong, little sister," Edythe whispered. "Guyon is a good man. He will accept the truth."
Brenna did not share her confidence, but she said only, "You will always be in my thoughts and prayers. Kiss the children for me."
"I will," Edythe promised. Managing a faint smile, she added, "Let me hear from you sometimes. Remember, I know how well you write and will accept no excuse."
Through tears, Brenna nodded. She watched as the housecarl helped Edythe mount. The Normans drew back, allowing the English horses to pass. They moved slowly through the camp and up toward the ridge overlooking the blood-soaked meadow. Edythe turned once and lifted her hand. Then she set her face toward the west and did not look back again.
Chapter Eighteen
Harold Godwinson, who had ruled so briefly yet nobly, was buried the afternoon following the battle in a small patch of English soil overlooking the Channel. On a clear day, a man with keen vision standing on the windswept cliff could make out the distant shore of Normandy from which the enemy had come with such devastating force. But Brenna saw only the gray waves pounding the beach and the keening seagulls circling overhead.
The grave was dug deep into the marshy ground, the clumps of withered grass replaced afterward so that nothing marked the place where England's last Anglo-Saxon king lay. Before the earth was filled in again, a priest murmured appropriate prayers. Unlike the young man who had kept vigil over Harold's body, this was an old abbot who could reasonably be expected not to live much longer. In the meantime, he was being speedily returned to Normandy where anything he might inadvertently mutter would reach no further than the walls of his abbey.
With the Christian rites completed, Guyon surprised Brenna. He dismissed the priest and sent the escort down the hill to wait. Alone at the gravesite, he turned to his wife. "Before I call the men back to refill the grave, I thought you might want a few minutes unobserved."