Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  “Know you, she will not have you,” Jehan said.

  Low chuckles from the men around them accompanied the comment.

  Trifine’s silver hair glinted in the moonlight as he angled his head. “So say you, my friend. But I say ’twill be with her as it is with me. ’Tis said she is a widow, and thus have her desires been fired. She has learned of pleasure, and will wish for a man’s intimate embrace. I will have her, willing, within a seven-day of our victory.”

  “We must first achieve that victory,” Fallard said, before any could take up the wager. He dropped his chin onto his chest, pulled his shoulders back in a hard stretch to relieve weary muscles, then rotated the left shoulder. “As you say, Trifine, this news changes more than our plan to attack on the morrow. It changes the manner, as well, for ’tis my thought we must now revert to greater stealth.”

  “You believe Ruald will kill her if we launch a direct assault, as planned?”

  “Aye, and her hearth companions, to prevent the possibility they may gain their freedom and fight against him. ’Tis my wish that each of those men pledge their loyalty to me. If we set them free and rescue their lady, and take the burh from Sir Ruald, who is held in dislike by ceorls and soldiers alike, mayhap those pledges will come willingly. You are our tactician, Trifine. What say you?”

  The muted sounds of night seemed to grow louder as Trifine mused. A nightjar called. The evening breeze soughed softly, and the men shuffled as they took the moment to resettle themselves.

  Fallard absently scratched an inconveniently located itch and considered events. The king had sent him to Wulfsinraed with orders to take the burh from its wealthy lord, Baron Renouf of Sebfeld, whose family was among the members of Saxon nobility that had actively supported William’s claim to the throne in opposition to Harold Godwineson. But the foolish baron had enraged the king, and more severely than Wulfsinraed’s former lord, Eorl Kenrick Wulfsingas, whom William had banished three twelvemonths earlier for his role in the revolt led by Ralf, Eorl of East Anglia, and Roger, Eorl of Hereford. William gained proof of Kenrick’s treason through a betrayal by Renouf. William then rewarded Renouf with the barony of Wulfsinraed through marriage to the younger Wulfsingas daughter. But William’s recent discovery that the man he had placed in power at Wulfsinraed to serve him was in fact, as disloyal as Eorl Kenrick had made him determined to place a trusted Norman as lord of the burh.

  With a personal force of fifteen mounted knights, and seven times that many of William’s foot soldiers, Fallard had a small army with which to carry out his sovereign’s command. His spies, posing as Saxon merchants, learned the lay of the land and the particulars he needed. ’Twas determined the fortress could be taken, and swiftly, for Renouf spent much of his time half-sotted, a state apparently aided and abetted by his brother, and his rule was more lax than was wise. No one checked those who passed through the gates into the courtyard.

  Renouf’s negligent arrogance was Fallard’s good fortune. The original plan called for a number of his men to enter the burh one at a time, wearing the clothing of merchants and ceorls. At a prearranged signal, they would attack from within, securing the double gates even as the bulk of troops launched their assault from without.

  Howbeit, Fallard now feared that should something go wrong, if the alarm went up before the men inside could secure the gates, the rest of the troops would be shut out. Ruald, like his brother Renouf, had a reputation for hasty, unpleasant decisions regarding the life and death of others. He would torture and kill Fallard’s men and eliminate any others who might turn against him, including the Lady of Wulfsinraed and her warriors. There would be naught Fallard could do to prevent it.

  But if they waited until morn three days hence and attacked while the imminent executions captured every man’s focus, those at risk would be out in the open and much easier to defend. The factor of surprise would also be that much greater.

  “What is your assessment, Trifine?”

  “Three days, Captain. We wait.”

  “For what?”

  “On the third morn from now, we move into place. We stop the executions. We take the burh.”

  “I see. So easily achieved.”

  “Aye. I’ll give you more when I know more.”

  “I like this plan. ’Tis simple, and straightforward. I could not have thought of it myself.” Fallard bothered not to hide his sarcasm.

  The gleam of his First’s teeth in the moonlight displayed his appreciation for the jest. “Aye, it is simple, and simple oft succeeds best.”

  Fallard ordered those men not on watch to get some rest. The small group dispersed. Jehan went off to make his rounds of the guards.

  Nearby, Fallard’s squire, Roul, and Fauques, squire to Trifine, lay curled in sleep.

  Trifine laid out his bedroll and stretched out. “Fauques dreams of glory in battle. Ah, but I envy the ease of his sleep. Fallard?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “You continue to hold out on me, my friend.”

  “You still wish to know how the ripe plum of Wulfsinraed came to be dropped into my undeserving hands.”

  “Mayhap, not so undeserving, but there were others who expected the king’s choice to fall on them.”

  “True enough.” Fallard watched as a small shadow floated overhead, blinking out starlight as it flew. A nighthawk, mayhap. “You will say next you will not sleep, do I fail to explain.”

  A chuckle floated from the darkness. “Aye, I might say that, but ’twould be not truth. I am merely curious. ’Tis not like you to keep matters so close, at least not with me. Yet, I would not trespass. Do but tell me to mind my own counsel, and I will ask not again.”

  “’Tis no great secret. I had in my possession that which swayed William’s decision.” He pillowed his head with his hands. “There is a debt of honor I owe the lady of Wulfsinraed through her father, Eorl Kenrick Wulfsingas, with whom I once spent much time. To discharge that debt, I approached our sovereign to request the right to lead this venture.

  “Never before have I presumed to set price upon duty. But I admit I covet the gift of becoming honorial lord to Wulfsinraed, as I covet its mistress. I considered the asking worth the risk of aggravating William’s temper. He demanded my reason. I spoke eloquently of the matter.” His muffled snort was rueful. “He was not pleased. He meant to offer the demesne to another, but my debt was not small and he was caught between two horns, his own personal code of knightly honor, and his expectation that his knights abide by the same code. Imagine, if you will, our liege-lord, reclined in his chair, left eyebrow cocked and unamused speculation in his glance.”

  “Phew. Methinks mayhap, you sweated beneath that regard, Fallard.”

  Fallard grunted. “Aye, I squirmed upon his hook, and let him see. I know not how long he regarded me in silence, but methinks my discomforture helped to ease his ire. I have been with him since I gained my spurs at Sanguelac, and have since fought with him, side by side, in many battles. He knows the mettle of my loyalty in this time when allegiance comes with a cost. Still, it strained his composure mightily to have his options whittled to but one. Half a dozen expressions crossed his face, none of them reassuring to my eyes, and the last a scowl worthy of Grendel. But then he sighed, and consented.”

  Fallard felt again the swell of accomplishment. “Soon the burh, its wealth, and its woman will be mine. I anticipate it with much pleasure.”

  Silence hung over the ravine, then Trifine wriggled, seeking a more comfortable position. “And I count the hours until I have a thick, downy pallet upon which to lay my weary flesh.”

  His captain’s answer was a soft snore.

  CHAPTER THREE

  At noontide the following day Fallard, dressed in a black cloak with a cowl pulled low to shield his distinctively shaven head, entered the village with one of the spies. Gossip was rife, and while publicly, all decried the lady’s evil deed and upheld the sentence of death, the whispered conversations overheard led Fallard to believe Thegn Seb
feld had earned his fate and none were sorry for his passing. It seemed the rumors of his character were true. He had been a man both mean and malicious, and a violent drunkard. He had abused the trust of his people and his lady wife.

  His companion led Fallard to the alehouse, a long, low structure built in typical Saxon style with a deeply slanted thatch roof. They entered through a painted door of faded blue hue. Smoke joined the smell of various brews to swirl around the room before drifting through the smoke-hole in the ceiling. They settled with their backs to the wall at a battered wooden table in a corner nook.

  A tired serving girl with a broom in one hand stared at them in wary curiosity. “We have bread, cheese, roast boar and venison stew. The stew is hot and fresh. The boar is not.”

  Fallard exchanged a wry glance with his companion. “We will have stew and small beers.”

  ’Twas quiet in the house, the kind of surly hush that accompanied fear and rancor. The only patrons were burh craftsmen who hurried to finish their meals. The tenor of their conversations was low-keyed and burned with suppressed ire.

  A man at the table next to them, clearly the worse for drink even at the early hour, leaned forward, his rough voice barely above a whisper. “By what right, I ask, does Sir Ruald hold trial for the Lady Ysane and sentence her to death? ’Tis the true crime, that. The lady is a gentle soul, and already carried a burden of sorrow before that brigand Renouf killed her sweet babe. I say, did there must be a trial, she should have been sent to the shire court. They would have meted true justice, aye, a fine of wergild mayhap, though Thegn Renouf was worth naught. Bah! ’Tis a mockery.”

  His face crumpled. Fallard thought he might weep, but he lifted his tankard, took several chugs and mumbled to the remaining contents.

  Fallard understood his confusion. Why would Ruald risk ordering her death when as the wife of a nobleman, she should have been sent to William? The knight held no title and little authority. ’Twas a situation, he mused, when the old maxim came to mind—the weak must suffer the domination of the strong. Ruald’s warriors had overwhelmed those of the burh’s first marshal. He now had complete control. Had Fallard not been sent to deal with Renouf—and Ruald as well, did the man but know it—the king would never have known the truth of these events. ’Twas even possible William might have granted Ruald the barony.

  The serving maid returned, this time without the broom, and slapped their bowls and tankards in front of them. Fallard listened to what could be heard of the conversations around him as he ate.

  “The burhfolc hate both the Sebfeld brothers,” said the man at his side.

  Fallard nodded. “Aye, and ’twould seem Sir Ruald wasted no time proclaiming himself their new lord. Heard you the comments about the lady?”

  “That he seeks vengeance against her more because she spurned his suit to wed her, than as a punishment for his brother’s death? It seems a petty action.”

  “He is a petty man. For too long, the people have borne the contempt and vicious backlash of both men’s foul tempers. ’Tis time it stopped.” He set his tankard down. “We are finished here.”

  He dropped coin on the table, nodded to the barman and wended his way through the sullen crowd toward the door. He tensed, his hand settling on the hilt of his sword beneath the cloak, as the portal swung open to admit several of Ruald’s warriors. Conversation ceased and tension rose. Head down, cowl lowered to hide his face, he slid to the side and waited. But the soldiers were interested in naught but getting warm and drunk by the fire. They gave notice to none.

  A short while later, Fallard met Trifine inside the dense cover of a copse bordering the burh. His First had more news. “Captain, one of the spies has befriended a young woman, the daughter of a ceorl. The maid spoke freely. Her family has a strong dislike of the Sebfeld brothers. Even better for us, her family is in debt to the Lady Ysane for the life of one of the children. They bear her much respect and affection.”

  “’Tis truth, she won the devotion of her people long ago, which may prove useful.”

  “You have further thoughts to flesh out the plan?”

  “Aye, but they are not without risk. Ruald may be a brutal leader, but there is no great love for Normans among these people. Will they accept our rule? ’Tis a question yet to be answered.”

  He went silent, his thoughts considering all angles, then decision made, he met Trifine’s expectant gaze. He uttered a soft snort. He and Trifine had fought together too long. His First already knew what he would say, but he said it, anyway. “Order the spy to approach the girl. I wish to know if the burhfolc will refuse to take up arms against us when we launch our attack. Let it be known I offer my oath to try to save the Lady Ysane, to be a fair and careful lord, and if all goes as planned, offer respect and an honorable marriage to the lady.”

  “And if the people can be convinced?”

  “Then warn the village elders of what is to come and explain the role they are to play.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  Fallard’s derisive grunt floated over his shoulder as he headed back to camp.

  ***

  Back at the ravine the following eve, Fallard met with Trifine and Jehan to finalize plans. Roul brought them bread, cheese, and a skin of ale. “Your mail and weapons are cleaned and oiled for the morrow, sir, and your bedroll laid out.”

  “Well and good, Roul, but there will be little sleep for any this night. Go now. Find your own bedroll and get what rest you can.”

  “Aye, sir. Think you there will be a great battle?” Roul sounded as if he hoped for naught less than Armaggeddon.

  Jehan cuffed the back of his head, knocking him to his knees. “A bloodthirsty beggar you are, lad. Have you not yet learned ’tis better to avoid battle if it may be prevented? Would it please you did the river run red from our play?”

  Grinning, Roul clambered to his feet. “I would be pleased for a fight, sir, but mayhap, without so much blood.”

  “Go to bed, Roul.” Fallard said. “’Tis my thought your wish may be granted, but I suggest you think on the merits of peace as you seek sleep.”

  As the squire moved off, Jehan looked at Fallard. “The elders agreed, but dare we trust their word?”

  “Methinks much depends on their devotion to the lady,” Trifine mumbled through a mouthful of bread, “and their willingness to lay aside whatever hatred and distrust they may harbor toward a Norman lord. I say we chance it. Mayhap, if we show confidence in their decision, ’twill work further to our advantage.”

  Fallard made a face and spit. “This cheese is too far past its prime. One might as well chew twigs. I agree, Trifine. ’Tis worth the risk. Jehan, what more have you heard?”

  “The executions are expected to take no more than a short span of the morn. With the exception of a few sentries on the north wall, the people have been ordered to assemble in the clearing opposite the gates ere dawn. Not even the children are excused. ’Twould seem Sir Ruald suspects no interference. He appears confident that with all the burhfolc under the eyes of his hearth companions, there is no reason to secure the gates. I believe the surprise will be complete.”

  Fallard swallowed the last of his ale. “I have learned ’tis unlikely Ruald is aware of the king’s knowledge of his treachery. For this reason, I expect he will issue no special security orders. The burh will be all but defenseless, but timing will be critical, especially for you, Trifine.”

  “I know it. My bow is ready, as is my arm, but one last thought. What if the fog is too heavy? I cannot hit what I cannot see.”

  Fallard stared as the first star of the even blinked into view in the deepening dusk. “’Tis of no import. Ruald’s action in forcing all to witness these events speaks to a wish to intimidate, and to reinforce his authority. If needful, he will wait till the sun’s rising banishes the mist. We move at mid-watch. Silent passage. Pass the word.”

  ***

  “’Tis truly a plum full ripened, and ready to be picked,” Fallard murmured
. He stood concealed with his men at the edge of the forest north of Wulfsinraed, watching the unfolding of the dawn. Beneath his helm, his face was stiff with pre-battle tension. The lady’s execution was to be the first, and was set for sunrise. ’Twas nigh that, now.

  “Captain?” Roul peered up at him.

  On Fallard’s other side Varin, his company blacksmith and best hand-to-hand fighter, spoke in a rumble that seemed to rise from deep beneath the earth into his chest. “’Tis naught, lad. Your captain merely clears his throat.”

  Fallard felt his tension ease. His sword hilt rested, solid and comforting in his hand. All was in place and his men were ready. They would not fail.

  Awaiting Trifine’s unmistakable signal, he focused his gaze on the soldier, backlit by torches, stationed behind Lady Ysane. Here lay a minute element of risk. In order to sight the guard with his bow, Trifine’s sharp eyes must penetrate the misty shadows that lingered in these last moments ere the clouded sunrise. If his shot went wide or fell short, the lady’s life would be forfeit.

  Fallard shook off the possibility. Trifine never missed.

  Once the executioner was down, the village elders would join the ceorls in a ‘panic’ designed to create as much chaos as possible. Under cover of that confusion, the assault would begin with his archers dealing with the sentries on the wall.

  At the same time, Fallard and his men would split. Most of them, led by Jehan, would attack the armed men in the clearing while Fallard led the smaller group through the tunnel between the open gates to take control of the burh. At all costs, they must prevent Ruald from reaching the courtyard and closing those gates. The corners of his eyes crinkled. If the plan proved successful, Roul would get his wish. Wulfsinraed Burh would be taken quickly, and with but a little bloodshed.

  “Soon, now,” Varin said. Dawn was breaking even as he spoke.

  Fallard flexed gauntleted fists and slid his sword from its fleece-lined sheath, the silent action repeated by a hundred arms to either side of him. Tension spiraled in a subtle escalation.