Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  “With the problems my lady Gemma endured in the birth of little Kinna, the last babe, my lord wished not to travel with her now. He begged I explain this time of her breeding has also been fraught with trouble, and the midwife insisted she take to her bed until the birth. My lord fears even without the added difficulties, the journey would be of so long and hard a duration she might be forced to give birth on the road, putting both her and the babe in greater danger.

  “For the nonce, my lord du Theil offers his solemn oath of fealty in writing—I have here the document.” He removed a scroll from inside his tunic and handed it to Ysane.

  Though the message was addressed to Fallard, she unrolled it. Mayhap, there was that within the message that required immediate attention. Her betrothed would understand her presumption. She hoped. Regardless, she would also take it to Jehan for his disposition.

  ’Twas quickly evident that in the message Fallard had sent to the various fiefs, he must have made no mention of her or his intent to wed her. Arnulf asked only that Fallard seek out his wife’s sister, and learn from her he was an honorable man and his word worthy of trust. By his lord’s leave, as soon as ’twas safe for them all to travel, he would see to the arrangements, and would come with all speed in obedience to the command.

  Ysane looked up from the scroll to find the messenger’s eyes upon her, as were those of Ethelmar and, less overtly, the entire kitchen staff, who nevertheless managed to continue their work without hesitation.

  “Sit down, Victor, and finish your meal. My lord D’Auvrecher will have an answer for you after he returns, but I fear it may be some time ere you will be able to convey it.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Abruptly, the man grinned. “A long time has it been since I was privy to a good fight. With your leave, I will join the preparations.”

  Ysane inclined her head, but her gaze rose to the ceiling as she turned away. What was it with men that they so loved to battle? Never would she understand. She disliked conflict, though she could hold her own in domestic disputes. Which reminded her, she still had to seek the slave Leda. She had determined the girl would eat not until she obeyed. Did she fail then to learn her lesson, Ysane would order her sold.

  As the day progressed, the siege preparations acquired a grim intensity as everyone sought to accomplish as much as possible ere time ran out. Complicating the effort was the arrival of more parties of stewards, one of which was led by Fallard. Ysane, rushing to get the new guests settled and with Ethelmar’s aid, finding work for them to do, never knew he had returned, ere he was gone again. He stayed but long enough to order a change of mounts, receive a hasty progress report on siege preparations and learn from Jehan that Ysane’s family was safe at home. He informed his Second and Domnall, who had returned an hour earlier, that his scouts reported the rebels were close and would reach the burh shortly after dark. Then he and his men mounted up and galloped back down the road to the west, hoping against hope they were not too late to aid the last steward’s party.

  Almost immediately after he left, Domnall found Ysane where she stood by the northeast tower, watching Harold arbitrate yet another argument between nervous burhfolc. He told her that to his knowledge, no escort had yet met up with the party of the last steward. This group was from Funta Burh, and would be riding in only a little ahead of the rebels, had they not already fallen prey to that enemy. Domnall judged them in especial danger because Funta’s steward and his family were Norman.

  When he mentioned Fallard had come and gone, she nigh shrieked. “My lord was here, and none saw fit to inform me?”

  Domnall winced. “My regrets, my lady. My only excuse is the chaos of the hour. Forgive me.”

  Ysane closed her eyes and held to the tattered threads of her temper, which had grown more tenuous with each passing hour. The situation was plagued enough without the lady of the hall losing control. But there had been precious little communication from Fallard as he and his men had ranged farther away west, seeking stewards and any sign of the rebels. The last message conveyed had been that morn, but it had told them naught beyond the fact no progress had been made in the search.

  “There is naught to forgive, Domnall,” she said. “We are all harried. I trust my lord remains well?”

  “Aye. They are all well,” Trifine said before the first marshal could answer. The silver knight came beside her into the shadow cast by the tower. His ice blue eyes took on a silver sheen to match his hair.

  Ysane stared.

  No wonder Roana lost her heart to him. The knight is nigh as handsome as Fallard, while his disposition is less severe, a perfect foil for my cousin’s quiet and gentle spirit.

  Distracted by a man at arms who wished to speak with him, Domnall took his leave. The First accompanied Ysane as she rounded the tower, heading for the multitude of shelters that ringed the practice field. One of the burhfolc labored to deliver her first babe. Ysane sought to learn how the birth progressed, and if the midwife had need of help. There was no one available to send, so she would tend to the matter herself.

  The First ambled along beside her, humming beneath his breath. Of them all, he was the least perturbed by the rising tension. Initially annoyed, Ysane now drew strength from his untroubled mien.

  As if he read her thoughts, he said, “Have faith, my lady. They will return safely. The captain is the most capable leader I have known, mayhap, more even than the king, though I would say not so to that worthy!” He laughed. “’Tis likely they will return well ere dark, for if they find not the Funta party by then, ’tis certain those unfortunates have already fallen prey to the Saxons.” He paused. “Were you informed the enemy is expected to arrive in full force by late this eve?”

  Ysane stopped. “The enemy, Trifine? Forget you they are my people, and have true cause to fight?” She sighed. “Aye, Domnall told me.”

  He watched her through eyes in which compassion lurked. “Then have no fear, Ysane. All that could be done this day is nigh to completion. Soon, all will be safe behind the wall. We may yet hope the…rebel force will be quickly defeated, and without overmuch harm done to them. Have faith, my lady. The captain will come. You will see.”

  He sketched a salute and headed for the gatehouse, only to swerve toward the hall at a call from Roana.

  Ysane watched him walk away, grateful for his presence, yet wishing he was Fallard. She lifted her face to the sky, prayed for strength and courage, and a merciful end to the strife. She gathered her skirts and went to find the laboring mother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “In all my days, I have never seen the wall so crowded with soldiers.” Wrapped in her cloak, Ysane stood at one of the embrasures in the west guard tower. “’Tis a formidable sight, but one greatly comforting.”

  ’Twas the time of gathering shadows ere full dark, and her eyes moved restlessly, searching the twilit road below, as did Trifine, Roul and Fauques for some sign of those they awaited. But in the deepening gloom, the only movement as far as the eye could see was the whispering river in its surging courses. Not even a bird sailed the skies.

  “Have faith, Ysane.” Trifine said again. “He will come. Trust him.”

  “Aye, my lady,” Roul said, conviction ringing. “No man may defeat my lord. He will come.”

  She nodded but made no answer. Fear had knotted her stomach during the past hour, as daylight slowly faded and no sign came, but eased the tiniest bit with the First’s words. The alarm she felt was not for her people, for they were ready. Preparations for whatever would come were as complete as time had allowed.

  Trifine understood. This she knew. His quiet words were indication enough he was aware of the dissension raging within her, the conflict that still sliced like daggers at her soul.

  Ah, but I am a hypocrite! I pray for the safety of my enemy and the defeat of my own kind, and sit in my hall and insist on respect as lady of a Norman burh.

  She lifted cold hands to her cheeks. What would her father think if he knew her heart? But she
knew the answer to that question, or so she believed, and shut her eyes against the disgust that would have flashed from his moss green eyes, the anger that would contort the lined face she had loved. Likely, he would have locked her away in her bower for her betrayal. Yet, she could no more control the yearning for the safety of the dark knight than she could still the beating of her heart.

  Her eyes flew wide when a sentry cried out. He stood upon the parapet, his body precariously balanced, pointing into the growing shades. “There! They come! Sound the alert!”

  Even as the anxious watchers caught the first thundering reverberations of hooves pounding at full gallop, the clarion call of the alarm rang out. Ere the echoes died, they were answered from the other three towers. There rose shouts from the gates as men made ready to open them at the second signal.

  The sentry called again. “Aye, ’tis them! They have the steward’s party with them. Sound the call to open the gates!”

  He jumped down from the parapet, for the oncoming riders could now be clearly seen.

  “See you! I told you they would come!” Roul almost danced in his excitement as he and Fauques hammered each other on the back. Fauques’ usually serious face was split in a great smile.

  Once again, the trumpet sounded, this time the signal for friendly arrivals, and was instantly answered with the far-off grinding of wood and heavy chain metal as the first of the great gates was hauled aloft.

  “Look you there, behind them. The enemy comes!” Alarm filled the guard’s voice. “Saint’s bones, but they’ve left it close.” He paused, then cried in disbelief, “’tis impossible. The rebels are astride. Look there, the rebels are not on foot, as we thought. Resound the alarm! Hurry, hurry!”

  Ysane’s heart pounded in tandem with the frantic rhythm of the warning call and the hooves of the racing company as they drew nigh. Her breath caught in her throat as the dark shadows of the rebels thundered from beneath the trees in determined pursuit. Aye, the guard was right, the rebels were astride. But Saxon soldiers rarely rode. The troops of her people had fought afoot for as long as the ancient stories told.

  Neither group carried torches. Mayhap, Fallard had counted on reaching the gates ere full dark, or simply knew there would be lights at the gates to guide them home. They had but to reach them.

  But where was he? As the party swept by, she could see his tall figure nowhere among those who rode. Why did he not lead them? Ah, please heaven, say not he had fallen, when she had only begun to realize his importance to her future, and aye, to the safety and future of her people.

  As the last of the company pelted past in the fading light, she found him. He rode with the rear guard, offering to those in front his own body as a shield against the enemy who bore down upon them—aye, and in her mind, now they were the enemy. But all of the men in the rear rode with their shields slung across their backs, the tapering lower end of the great bucklers offering some limited protection to the hindquarters of their steeds.

  “’Twill be close,” Trifine said, his voice calm. “The enemy gains ground.” He might have been discussing the newest poem narrated by the scop. “But look you, Ysane. There are fewer rebels than of our people. The larger force must still be hours away. ’Tis my guess the riders are Ruald with some of his men. He is a trained knight, and most likely learned from us the value of fighting on horseback. Where he has obtained the animals, I cannot guess, but because of them Fallard must fight a running defense. He is most certainly enjoying the fray.” He grinned and ducked the slap Ysane aimed at him. “Worry not, my lady. They will claim him not.”

  Fauques and Roul, openly capering now, echoed his words.

  Trifine’s confidence seemed unshakable. Thinking him more arrogant than assured, for the pursuers too closely followed the pursued, Ysane threw him an impatient glance and raced back along the wall toward the north guard tower and gatehouse. Somehow, she avoided colliding with the shouting soldiers. From all around came the pings of arrows being released as the burh troops gave what protection they could to the fleeing party in the darkening eve. The rebel riders held their shields angled toward the wall as they drew nigh the troops on the wall. Some few moved close to the shielded men, guiding their horses with only their knees, using that protection for returning fire. But at the speed they moved, and with the limited light, their aim was sketchy at best.

  Strong fingers closed with a compelling grip around her elbow as Trifine caught up with her, halting her headlong dash.

  “Ysane, you must leave the wall. Now!” They had come to one of the stairways that led to the ground below. She understood his concern when an arrow whizzed by one of the hearth companions in front of her, and then a handful more arced over the wall, thankfully finding no targets.

  Trifine shook her. “Go, lady! And stay close to the base of the wall.”

  He tore away at top speed in the direction of the north tower, heeding not his own advice.

  Ysane threw one last, agonized glance at the rapidly receding band of riders pounding toward the gates. The pursuers were not so many as she had first thought, and even as she watched, one horse fell to an arrow from the wall, spilling its rider. But the rest rode with a keen clarity of purpose that even she recognized. Their goal was to catch or kill the man who held her future, and mayhap her heart, in his hand.

  Please let him be safe.

  She threw herself down the stairs in obedience to Trifine’s command.

  They will make the gates. They must! Oh mercy, they let them reach safety.

  From among the shelters in the orchard, seemingly oblivious to the danger that might arc over the wall, the burhfolc of Wulfsinraed were on the move. It looked as if a host of dancing fairies surged around Ysane as more and more torches were lit and held high to light the way. They swarmed as one toward the gates, anxious to learn all that happened.

  A loud commotion of sword upon sword was heard around the bridge, cut off by the thunderous thud of the outer gate as it was quick-released to plummet into place. A resounding roar of rage rose from without the wall.

  Ysane was but two-thirds of the way back to the gatehouse, hurrying past the craftsmens’ cottages, when she heard shouts from ahead, picked up and wafted back to those still scurrying behind.

  “They have reached the courtyard, all of them. The lord D’Auvrecher was the last inside. The gates are shut. They are safe!”

  As the word reached her, Ysane sobbed, her breath coming in gasps as she tried to run faster. But the press around her slowed her pace.

  By the time she drew nigh the courtyard, the light from so many torches made it seem bright as day. But such a crush of people milled she could make no headway to the gates. Everyone seemed to talk wildly or cry out at once. She sought to push her way through the throng, but there were too many. Had they recognized her, they would have made way, but she was only one woman among a teeming crowd.

  At last, she spotted the unmistakable figure of Varin on the wall. She screamed his name above the clamor, then jumped up and down and waved.

  He saw her. A fierce smile curved across his face. A singular colossus of a man whose Norse ancestors were said to be berserkers, those fiercest of all Viking warriors, he was broad as he was tall, as strong as a bull and as ugly, battle-scarred and rough. Two of his teeth were missing, while his nose jutted at an insane angle from where ’twas broken long before. He terrified strong warriors in battle, but with those he deemed his friends, he was a gentle giant.

  He barreled his way to her through the crowd, not particularly careful who he had to seize and throw aside in the process. When he reached her side, he swept her up in a fearsome grip, ignoring her protests.

  “Varin! Put me down!”

  But he shielded her with his bulk, and carried her to the hall steps where he set her down as if she were fragile as the petals of one of her beloved roses.

  Somewhat breathless, Ysane stared up at him. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his massive chest. “I thank you, Va
rin.”

  In the torchlight, he grinned at her from his great height, his heart in his eyes. He bowed with strange grace, and hastened back to his post.

  Ysane felt rather overwhelmed. In the few short moments he had borne her, the odd knight had left her feeling…cherished. None but Cynric, and most recently Fallard, had ever made her feel that way. There was no mistaking what she saw in his eyes, but with a woman’s instinct, she sensed he would want it neither known nor acknowledged. Varin would be a loyal friend, should ever she need one.

  She looked around, taking stock. In her absence, Lady Matty had assumed charge and the initial mayhem around the gates had flowed into ordered activity. There was little left for her to do. She threw a grateful glance at the older woman, who was instructing boys where to take the last of the baggage. Matty grinned back.

  Inside the hall, she found the young son of Lord Belleme, Funta’s steward, Roul and Fauques with him, seated at the one of the hearths with warm drinks. The other stewards’ boys gathered round, listening with awe as between bites of buttered bread, the lad told the tale of their flight. To her eyes, he seemed none the worse for wear.

  Servants swarmed the tables, preparing for sup. Ysane caught up with her steward as he hurried from the kitchen. “Ethelmar! What happened at the gates?”

  He paused. “My lady! The rear guard fought to stave off the rebel riders from crossing the bridge ere the outer gate could be closed, thus allowing the steward’s party to fly to safety ahead of them. Though ’twas most heroic, they lost two men, one of our hearth companions, and the other a knight from the steward’s guard. Several were wounded, including Lord Belleme. He insisted on joining the melee and received a lance wound in his shoulder for his efforts. Should you wonder, the roar you may have heard came from Ruald. ’Twas the sound of his fury when his quarry escaped and the burh defenses were successfully raised against him.”