Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  “Come, let us complete our purpose here,” he said then, taking the linen and drying her face. “Or do you desire to return to the hall? I give you leave, if that is your wish. The secret of the tunnel may be learned another time.”

  “Nay. Methinks it best if we continue. Fallard?”

  “Aye, my rose?”

  “I thank you.”

  He slipped a hand around her nape beneath her headrail and deposited a kiss on each downcast eyelid, still damp with her tears. Then he kissed her lips with gentle caress. He caught hold of her hand once again, his touch warm against the chill of her skin.

  As they moved further down the hall, they passed only empty crypts where one day he, Ysane, and their descendents would be interred. He hoped that time was far, far away. She had earlier read aloud the names above the recesses, but now she grew silent as the charnel reek of new death became more noticeable.

  He saw a brand new shroud covering a long coffin, and ’twas from here the unholy smell emanated.

  Renouf!

  His grip on her hand tightened as they covered their faces with their cloaks. Beyond the vault where lay her former husband, were numerous further empty crypts. There was room here for many more generations of Wulfsin’s descendents.

  “Would it please you, my rose, did I remove Renouf’s body and send it to rest with his family?”

  “Aye, ’twould please me greatly. He belongs not here with my kin, though he was thegn. But I fear ’twould be seen a great insult to them, though ’tis said Ruald’s intent was the same.”

  “Then it shall be done. Let insult fall where it may. Think no more on it.”

  “My lord,” Ysane began. She did not look at him.

  “Go on. Fear not to ask me aught.”

  “My father. He should have been buried here, with my mother. ’Tis where he belongs, for he was born here, and he was true thegn in a long line of Wulfsingas. He loved Wulfsinraed, and he loved his family. We never had chance to mourn his passing. I…I understand he…that is, his punishment was banishment, and that King William meant he should never come home, even in death. But I would not have him forgotten in the place of his birth, in the twelvemonths to come. I have given much thought to what might be done to preserve his memory, if such ’twould be acceptable to you. Mayhap, such could also be done for Angelet.”

  Now she glanced at him, as if seeking to read in his face what his response might be. She seemed to gather her courage. “You are familiar, my lord, with the Viking custom of runestones?”

  “I am. You wish to raise one for your father and daughter?”

  “If ’twould not further anger the king, then aye, I would. Gemma and I have spoken of it for our father and we agree ’tis right to do, but we could do naught while Renouf lived. Renouf said…well, I will repeat not what he said, but he refused to consider it.”

  He smiled deep within his soul. He had wished for somewhat he could do to ease her grief. Her request was within his power to grant and would certainly aid his cause. “Since ’tis but a memorial for the family, I can see no reason why William would find it an offense. After we are wed, I will see to it, and for Angelet, as well. Mayhap, the ceremony of placement can wait until your sister arrives. Ethelmar did tell me of the message from Blackbridge. The messenger will return home after our wedding with my answer. I will include information about the placing of the runestones ere he leaves.”

  She tried to hide her relief, but ’twas not difficult to read that although this was a small thing, and of little import to him, ’twas of great importance to her.

  “I offer my thanks, Fallard, and from Gemma, too, you may be certain. Aye, and ’twill be a good thing to wait for the ceremony until Gemma can be present, unless that should be a long time.”

  “Then allow it to be part of my ‘gift of the morn’ to you, little rose, for the morn after our wedding night. You may seek out the master mason whenever you please to tell him what you require, or I will do so.”

  “’Twould please me to see to it, my lord. May I also ask what answer you gave to Arnulf’s message?”

  He let a smile curve. “I told him he and his lady wife should travel not to Wulfsinraed at this time, and that I accept his written oath of fealty as if ‘twere tendered personally by him on bended knee. Happens, I also mentioned we might be traveling to London ere the twelvemonth is out, and do we do so, we will surely seek the hospitality of Blackbridge Manor along the way. ’Tis a certainty I will be pleased to meet the rest of your family, Ysane.”

  She said no more, but her eyes glowed with her pleasure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  They came at last to the end of the long hall. Facing them was what appeared to be a solid retaining wall of rock, built to hold back the earth surrounding the underground section of the crypts.

  Fallard stepped close with the torch and examined it from one side to the other, from top to bottom, but nowhere could he see sign of a portal.

  He turned to Ysane. “Truly, there is a door to the hidden corridor here?”

  He was impressed despite himself.

  “Aye. Look you here.” Stepping to the left wall, she reached inside the last of the empty crypts and ran her fingers over a section of rock a little higher than her head. “Bring the torch.”

  Leaning behind her, he looked where she touched.

  “Here. See you these runes at the head of the tomb?”

  The runic carvings were very old, but deeply incised and clear. Taking his hand, she traced his fingertips across the runes and then down several inches to where the symbol of an ancient cross inside a circle was etched into the stone.

  She set his fingertips against the crossbar of the cross. “Push now.”

  He pushed. The circle depressed beneath his fingers, then the whole thing popped out into Ysane’s waiting hands. ’Twas as a sort of covering, or cap, and behind where it had been yawned a cavity large enough to admit his fist.

  “Place your hand inside the opening. What feel you?”

  “There is some sort of lever or rod inside.” Feeling further, he said, “There is a loop at the end.”

  “Slip your fingers in the loop and pull, hard.”

  He did, then gave a start at a low, grating sound. A long piece of iron rod was now visible, sticking out from inside the cavity. The loop at its end was formed by a piece of the rod bent back upon itself.

  “Look you,” she said, pointing.

  Lifting the torch, he saw that a narrow edging—a kind of lip of rock—had appeared in what he had assumed was merely one of many jagged cracks in the wall.

  She reached in front of him, slipped her fingers behind the lip and pulled. The grating sound returned as a low door began to open. Behind it was impenetrable darkness.

  He was intrigued. The door, though thick, was not so heavy as he had expected, for ’twas made of thin, hard wood, finished in cracking resin and faced with stone.

  “’Tis in truth, quite simple,” she said, as he sought the mechanism behind the lock. “See how wide the edge of the door is, and this slot in it? Now watch.”

  Reaching up, she grasped the curved end-piece of the iron rod and gave a little push. From an aperture inside the doorframe, the far end of the iron rod poked out. She showed him where it fit into the corresponding slot in the edge of the door.

  “When the door is closed, and the rod pushed into place, the door is held tightly shut. Of course, for any who knew the door to be here, but knew not the lock’s secret, ’twould be simple enough to break through. The lock was meant not to secure the door, only to hide it.”

  “Why has no one found the cavity? It seems anyone touching the cross would trigger the opening.”

  “But why would anyone think to touch the cross? Every crypt has the same runes and image of the cross in the exact same place. ’Tis part of the secret that only this cross, in this crypt opens to the cavity with the rod inside. One would first have to know there was a hidden door, even ere they knew to look for the
key.”

  “Aye, that is true enough.”

  “Come now into the hidden corridor, and I will show you how to open it from the other side.”

  They stepped inside and she showed him the opening device. ’Twas simple, but ’twas also located high above the head of a child.

  He understood then how Marcel’s young sons would have found it difficult to reach, even had they known how to operate it.

  He suddenly turned to look through the open doorway. Unease touched him again. The same niggling tingle he felt before caused him to duck back into the crypt hallway. As before there was naught to be seen, yet he felt the watcher. He prowled further, stood still and listened with all his senses, seeking to reach beyond the curving wall. Not a breath of sound disturbed the black shadows, nor did he see aught.

  He shook himself. He was not a man to be easily deceived by such things, but mayhap, he was influenced by knowledge of the ancient death all around. Of a certain, he disliked dark, closed places, and to be locked into this dark hole was not a way he would choose to die.

  He stepped back into the corridor. “You are certain it can still be easily opened from this side?”

  He wanted to be sure there was no way they could be locked in, though the sentry would know they had been inside the crypts and would eventually effect their rescue.

  “Oh, aye. My father kept it in excellent condition, though ’twas never spoken of to Renouf or Ruald, and I never risked coming here. Father Gregory knows, as does Domnall, and Cynric, my most dear friend, whom I told many twelvemonths ago.”

  “Cynric knows?”

  She cocked her head at him. The sudden suspicion in his voice seemed to spark her curiosity. “What know you of Cynric?”

  “Only what Ethelred and Domnall could tell me.”

  “Oh, of course. ’Tis your right to know, but fear not. ’Twas safe to tell Cynric, for he is loyal to Wulfsinraed.”

  He kept his opinion about that to himself.

  Quickly then, they explored the passage with its sleeping and storage alcoves. ’Twas wide enough for three to walk abreast, but much lower than the outer hallway, for unlike the crypts it lay fully below ground. He felt the tickle as his hair brushed the ceiling. Nigh to the steps leading to the hidden door behind the Madonna, Ysane showed him the access tunnel through the wall where opened the postern gate, and explained how to unlock it. The tunnel was narrow and cramped. He liked not at all the feeling of stuffiness within, and found it difficult to breathe.

  They returned along the corridor to the crypts. He crowded close behind Ysane while trying not to hurry her. His mind shouted they were alone and there was naught to fear, but by the time they stepped out, ’twas all he could do not to whirl about to face the invisible—and nonexistent—enemies his instinct warned were following. He said naught of his relief to be out of the passage. ’Twas unseemly for a warrior of his stature to be so unnerved, especially when his little white rose seemed bothered not at all, despite her time in the holding pit. They locked the hidden door, the cover with the cross slipping with a firm push back into its place.

  Stepping away, he shook his head in admiration. “The creator of this door was a master craftsman. Even now, when I know where to look, I can see naught. Nor does the cover over the cavity appear to be aught but a carving in the rock. Most skillful.”

  She smiled. “It had to be, for the hidden corridor was meant to be the last escape for the people of the hall if ever the burh was overrun. It has never been needed for that purpose, but one thegn was said to have used it to hide treasure, while another, long ago, was said to have used it as a temple to worship a pagan god.”

  He glanced at her, but she was looking back towards the crypts. If she knew of the passage’s sad history, she mentioned it not.

  He took her hand. “Shall we go?”

  They ran until they reached the outer doors. He closed and locked them, then snuffed the torch on the ground. “Now that I am satisfied I know all that is needful about the crypts, the best part of what I have planned for this day is before us.”

  She breathed deeply of the pure air. “I am glad to free of that place. I always feel, when I leave, as if I have been down there forever, even when it has been but a little while. May I hope the rest of your plan will be carried out in a more pleasing location?”

  “I believe you will think so. Come, little rose. Let us waste not the time.”

  ***

  The day was well in hand. After the chill, lifeless atmosphere below ground, the air smelled wonderful, crisp and clean. The warmth of the early sun cheered body and soul. The sentry wandered along the wall, whistling as he kept his watch. Sparrows and robins flitted among the branches above them, while a skinny dormouse, its golden fur ragged after its long hibernation, clung to a nearby branch.

  The tiny animal’s big black eyes watched Ysane closely as it nibbled on a leaf bud. She lifted her face to the sun. Ah, ’twas a fine day and the sorrow of the crypts was behind them. Though the nights remained frosty, the days heralded spring. Nature had decided to awaken.

  Beside her, Fallard stopped to look around, as if searching for something.

  “What is it you seek, my lord?”

  He paused as if to debate his answer, then said, “I am certain I saw someone spying on us from the door while we were inside, but the only place he might have hidden that neither I, nor the sentry could see him was behind one of those large apple trees yonder. Whoever ’twas must have run more swiftly than a deer to reach that hiding place ere I went to look. He is gone now, but I dearly wish I had caught him.”

  “Mayhap ’twas but a child of the burhfolc. They are small and easily hidden.” She pointed. “Look you! They are going home!”

  The burhfolc of Wulfsinraed were taking down their shelters, packing their belongings and heading out the gates, returning to their cottages and farms.

  “Aye, I expected it. ’Tis spring! They have fields to plow, grain to grind and hedges to trim. There is repair work caused by winter storms that must be finished and the various herds and flocks to be tended. They have a thousand tasks that require attention. ’Tis good the siege ended quickly. The last of Sir Gyffard’s scouts came in ere sup last eve and reported no sign of the rebels. A watch has been placed on the roads and in the forest, to give warning, should they return.”

  “Think you that be likely?”

  “Someday, mayhap. Not soon. Ruald knows now he can win not any battle he might begin here. He and his men have scattered for the nonce, and I suspect they will stay scattered, for when William hears of this, ’tis likely he will send more men to help patrol this region. ’Tis much easier for the rebels not to be found if they are banded not together.”

  “So we will have extra guests for a while.”

  “I fear so, but I have ordered Sir Gyffard and Sir Aalot to schedule the king’s troops for daily searches. They will be absent more oft than not. It should prove but little imposition.”

  She smiled. “’Tis actually quite nice to have guests, and Sir Gyffard’s men are no more rowdy than your own. Methinks Wulfsinraed can handle them. There is one thing…if you would mind not, I would ask that you speak to Sir Aalot. I noted at sup last eve his men respect not my women, and they have been through enough with Renouf and Ruald.”

  His face softened. He ran the back of his fingers in a slow caress down her cheek. “’Tis admirable you truly care for your people. Aye. I will speak to Sir Aalot, this very day.”

  She held her breath as they stood looking at each other. ’Twas as if the whole sparkling world held none but they two.

  “You look at me as if I am the most generous of men. ’Tis not difficult to do as you ask.”

  “You are generous, and you are also good, Fallard. ’Tis no hardship to admit such.”

  And methinks Roana is right. I am learning to care for him.

  She started as a voice called.

  “Good morrow!” Father Gregory came through the chapel gate and waved
. He nodded toward the departing burhfolc. “I go to help, wherever I might be needed with those returning home.”

  They chatted together as they walked to the hall, taking care where they stepped. The horde of animals kept inside the wall these past days made that care urgent.

  The good father left them to mingle with the folks passing through the outer gates.

  Ysane followed Fallard through the gate in the waist wall that led to the kitchen. The door was propped open to let in the smells and sounds of springtime. They entered the cavernous space.

  “Thegn Fallard!” Alewyn laid aside her work. “All is ready, as you requested.” She stepped around a kitchen maid industriously chopping onions and carrots, and came to a small table. She smiled as she handed a basket covered by a linen square to Fallard.

  “My thanks, Alewyn.”

  “Aught for you and my lady. Go now, both of you and enjoy this lovely day.”

  As they passed into the hall, Ysane grinned as the cook called to the spit boy to mind his business. Saw he not the lamb was crisping too quickly on one side?

  Fallard handed her the basket. “Wait here. I will return ere you can miss me.”

  He strode through the anteroom to the lord’s bower, reappearing as quickly as he had promised.

  She frowned, for he had made one change to his apparel. He now wore his sword.

  Ere she could comment on the weapon, he stopped in front of her. “Well, did you?”