Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  “I see the contradiction in yours! How call you Ysane barren when she bore our brother a child?”

  “She bore no child! I swear it. She is barren.”

  “Ysane has never been given to lies, Ruald. She claims to have borne a girl child. She swears Renouf killed the babe, that he was drunk at the time. Even you can deny not our brother oft became unwittingly cruel when he was sotted.”

  “Cynric, all women lie, or at least offer half-truths when ’tis to their advantage. Surely, you have learned this basic truth of the female mind. Deception is woven through their very nature, though ’tis understandable, of course. How else might they gain their desires in a world filled with men who are much stronger than they, who can be forced not to yield unless through small deceits and play-acting or mayhap, through the bed of the bower?”

  “What then would be her desire in telling that particular ‘untruth’, as you deem it?”

  Certain now of the success of his ploy, Ruald allowed a querying frown.

  “Where did this conversation take place?”

  “In the forest south of the burh,” Cynric answered, without elaboration.

  “The forest, you say. Was this at the same time you killed my hapless archer, who was but following my orders to kill the Norman?”

  “Aye. Only, I killed him because his arrow pointed not at the knight, but at Ysane.”

  “Not by my order, if that be true. So, D’Auvrecher was present at the telling of this tale. I thought as much. He corroborated it, I assume. Tell me brother, what was our dear Ysane’s behavior towards the Norman? Was there aught in her words or manner of a desire for rescue from an unhappy union? Did she seem anxious or afeared in his presence? Was there sign she desired release from her marriage to him?”

  Cynric stared wordlessly at him, tiny lines forming between his eyes as he frowned, but he said naught.

  “I understand. Your rage was hot and immediate, and you stopped not to consider your sister’s bearing toward her new husband.”

  Cynric snorted. “They were not yet wed, though ’tis my understanding they are by now. She asked me to stay for the ceremony.”

  “Well now, that is something I knew not. You know ’twas my understanding D’Auvrecher intended to force the marriage, as soon as my men and I were taken out of the way. But mayhap, somewhat happened to prevent it. Still, you have answered not my question.”

  “Ysane seemed to have no desire to stop the wedding.”

  “Ah, now we come to it,” Ruald said, and his tone became more wheedling. “Methinks it likely there was more to her desire than that. Methinks mayhap, she has decided she wishes this union. Mayhap she has even fallen beneath the scoundrel’s spell, eh, my brother? The minds of women are weak, as you know, and their humors difficult to understand. Mayhap, our little Ysane has fallen in love with her Norman knight. See you not, Cynric, what she has done? She knows you well, and she protected her lover from your wrath in the only way she knew how. ’Tis what any woman in love might do.”

  Still Cynric said naught.

  He pressed his advantage. “You are wondering, could Ysane have changed in the twelvemonths since you last saw her? Your head whirls and confusion reigns. You no longer know what to think. You are torn between I, the brother you have always respected, and the sister you love. But consider, brother. I have also never lied to you. This you know.” He placed his hand on Cynric’s shoulder and met his brother’s wary gaze. “Take it not so strongly to heart. ’Tis the way of women, to protect those they love, and aye, she is very much a woman, and we know a woman’s humors change as oft as her clothing. ’Tis certain she disliked being dishonest, but a woman’s heart speaks more loudly than her honor. Forgive her, Cynric, and set it aside. She will come round and see where her true loyalties lie, when the time is right.”

  Cynric looked hard at him, then. “And if she verily loves the Norman, what then? Must we still destroy him? I would not have her hurt.”

  “Bah! ’Tis no difficulty. When we take back Wulfsinraed, we will simply give them a choice. They may swear fealty to you, ceding right of lordship, and live in peace at the burh, or they may leave and go where they will. There is wealth enough to share so they may live elsewhere in comfort. Mayhap, you may even make him thegn over one of the fiefs. Come, Cynric, what say you? Throw we away our plans when we are so close to achieving our goal or do we, who are brothers, battle to the death here and now for the sake of a Norman dog?”

  “I will fight you not at this time, brother, but think not I will let this go so easily. Only because there is merit in your words do I choose to walk away without battle. I will yet find the truth of this matter, and if it be you who lie, prepare for death. But let us lay it aside for the nonce.” Cynric took a long draught of the stout ale. “Tell me, by what reasoning say you we are ‘close’ to achieving the retaking of Wulfsinraed? I have seen naught in recent days to lead me to see fact in your words.”

  “First tell me what you learned at William’s court, then I will tell you what you should know.”

  “D’Auvrecher sent word to William of all that happened at Wulfsinraed the day of the battle, though none to whom I spoke was privy to those details.”

  Ruald kept hidden his sigh of relief. Had anyone at court told Cynric the story of that day, ’twould have seemed a confirmation that Ysane’s tale was true.

  He glanced around at their companions. No one paid them any attention, and none were close enough to hear his next words over the din. Still, he lowered his voice, and indicated Cynric should do the same. “What else?”

  “D’Auvrecher sent proof of Renouf’s involvement with our group, but none of yours. ’Twould seem the knight suspects you, but knows naught for a certainty. Nor does William know, so far as I was able to learn, of our work against the stewards or of the failed siege, though ’twould be my guess word of those later events has now been sent. William will learn of it shortly, has he not already.”

  “Good. That is good, brother. There is still time. We may yet salvage the rebellion if we act quickly and are able to persuade William I had naught to do with aught that has taken place. Here is my plan, then. I have new information, knowledge that gives us the advantage, recently gained from our friend in the hall. With this aid, we can win Wulfsinraed without siege and mayhap, even without much battle. We have but to wait for the re-gathering of our troops, which I have already ordered. Messengers were sent three days ago to the scattered units. They were commanded to make their way with all speed to the usual place, and I expect most of them will arrive within two seven-days hence.

  “Once they are assembled, we will begin preparations. I plan to make my move early in the month of reaping. Throughout the summer, to keep the enemy off-guard and unaware of our plans, bands of our warriors will be sent into areas east, north and west of London to harass the Norman holdings and patrols. I will expect you to lead one of those bands, from time to time.

  “’Tis my intent to make it known to the bastard usurper that our raiders are rebels forced from Wulfsinraed lands. We know William ordered D’Auvrecher to destroy all insurrectionists in the area, or else, safely deliver them to him. ’Twill darken his thoughts—and stir his suspicions—that his favored knight accomplished neither, but rather pushed them south to harass his barons’ holdings nigh London. I know somewhat of how the king thinks. He will demand D’Auvrecher complete his task. He will order the dark knight to bring his troops to London to aid in the apprehension of our troops.

  “But when we sight the king’s messenger on the road to Wulfsinraed, our warriors will be recalled. D’Auvrecher will journey to London, and we will take the burh while its defenses are light. Once it lies within our hands, you, as the eldest son and rightful heir of the true thegn, will declare your oath of fealty to the usurper. This is where your birth will aid us, my brother, for William, being also a natural son, is known to favor such over those of licit stock. He will deny you not the heritage of your blood, and since he knows naught
of your true loyalties, he will have no reason to suspect your oath. ’Twill be simple enough for him to grant the black knight another demesne, elsewhere. Ysane may go with him or stay at home in Wulfsinraed, as she pleases.”

  Cynric stirred as if uneasy. “Your plan, though simple, is rife with difficulties of which you seem unaware. Mayhap, you should share this new information, Ruald. What exactly have you learned?”

  “I choose to keep that little secret to myself for the nonce. You understand, of course. The less anyone knows, the better our chance of success. I have everything well in hand.”

  ***

  Cynric frowned into his ale. He had spent much of his life, but especially the past three twelvemonths, accepting that Renouf and Ruald were the only ones who ‘needed’ to know certain information. They were, after all, the leaders of the rebellion in this remote region, and leaders told not all they knew. Now he wondered if that was wise.

  Still, if the information Ruald had gained was what he suspected, Ruald could never be allowed to know he knew of it, for he had no reason to withhold the knowledge and every reason to offer it. ’Twould seem to his brother an act of disloyalty, if not outright treason, that he kept it hidden. He still understood not, himself, why he had chosen not to disclose the secret postern door, since ’twould be to his clear advantage. Mayhap, the burh would already be his had he done so.

  But was he a fool to believe once Wulfsinraed was regained, Ruald would simply walk away and leave the burh to him? But why should he not? Ruald, as Renouf had once been, was already lord of his own fine burh, away to the west. Now Renouf’s holdings, which included the family manor, fell to Ruald as next in line to inherit at his father’s death. Beyond that, Cynric was willing to share the great wealth of Wulfsinraed as needed with his brother and sister, and Ruald knew that, as well.

  Ruald had conceded Wulfsinraed belonged to him by right as firstborn son, despite his natural birth. Kennard was dead and though under Saxon law females could inherit, male heirs, oft even natural sons, took precedence. Certainly, under Norman law, males inherited first. The only obstacle to his succession was Fallard D’Auvrecher.

  Could D’Auvrecher be persuaded to step down, and Ruald seemed confident he would, he could finally take his rightful place in the home of his fathers. Did King William take exception, there were enough loyal Saxons left in the land to carry on the fight to free England from Norman repression, which he intended to continue, regardless.

  Until now, he had no reason to doubt the veracity of his brother’s claims. ’Twas Ysane’s admittedly wild tale that gave him cause to question. He had come here, believing her words, prepared to kill the only family he had left except for her. Mayhap, ’twas wise to step back and take another look at the situation, from both sides. He believed not Ysane sought his harm, but neither had Ruald given him reason to doubt. This was a tangle that needs must be unraveled ere he took action that could not be recalled.

  “Yer cups be empty, masters. Will ye have another?”

  A serving woman, this one younger and prettier than the first, bent so low in front of them the front of her garment gapped away, presenting them with a goodly view of her not inconsiderable charms. Ruald leered at her, instant lust in his stormy eyes. Cynric threw aside the cloud of doubt and grinned. A long time ’twas, since a woman had warmed either of their beds. This one seemed eager to please either of them or both.

  Though ’twould give him a niggle of satisfaction to take the girl’s favor from Ruald, forcing him to seek comfort elsewhere, Cynric caught her gaze and inclined his head toward his brother. As he slipped out the door into the frozen night, and headed for his pallet in the warm stable where his only company would be a handful of horses and the stable lads, the last he saw of his brother was Ruald dragging the woman behind him toward a sleeping chamber.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ’Twas an unpleasant discovery when the folk of Wulfsinraed awoke the morn after the wedding to find that a fickle spring, so warmly clement the day previous, had fled before the face of a furious winter’s final blast. During the night, temperatures had plummeted. Dark, full-bellied clouds, scudding nigh low enough to touch, unleashed snow flurries and stinging ice pellets of freezing rain. These were flung every which way by a howling wind that sifted through every crack and cranny in the walls of the hall.

  Those unfortunate enough to be out in the teeth of the blast wished they were not. Even inside the sentry posts in the guard towers, where the fire pits were at full blaze, the guards stomped and clapped their hands together in a futile attempt to keep warm. They complained, as soldiers have done throughout time, of the ill luck that saw them on duty during such weather.

  “I said it, I did!” One old hearth companion yelled the words to a fellow companion-in-misery over the shriek of the wind. The gusts whipped the flames of the pit into wild gyrations and blew sparks from one side of the tower to the other. “Did I not? Only yester morn, I said there was too much of a chill in the air for good. The birds flocked in a frenzy of feeding, they did. ’Twas an omen of bad weather a-coming. But did anyone listen? Nay! I said it, and I was right.”

  “Aye, old man,” one of Sir Aalot’s knights growled, “you said it, and said it till we are all weary of hearing it. It can do no good to keep saying it, now can it, when there is naught one can do about it?”

  One of Fallard’s knights tried to wrap his cloak more tightly about himself as he stepped to the all too open window embrasure to look outside, but the wind frustrated his efforts, whipping the edges of his cloak from fingertips nigh frozen even though encased in fur-lined leather gloves.

  “Bah!” He groaned, unable to see further than his extended hand, which he thrust back inside his cloak. “Neither man nor beast is fool enough to be out in this, save us. The end of this night’s duty will be more welcome than any I have seen since that blizzard we had ere Midwinter’s Day yester year last. There had better be warm ale, hot food and hotter fires waiting for us in the barracks. My nose has got so cold ’twill be a miracle if it breaks not off to fall on the floor.”

  Inside the hall, conditions were little better. Ethelmar, who awoke shivering beneath the single fur that had been sufficiently warm cover the night before, realized immediately what had happened. He was old enough to remember ’twas not the first time winter had sneaked back when least expected, when by all proper rules of nature it should have gone for good.

  Mumbling over the stiffness of his aged bones, he delved in the chest at the foot of his narrow alcove for his heaviest woolen clothing and slid unhappily out of his pallet. He pulled on braies, shirt, tunic, thick hose and boots with fingers that seemed to creak in the icy air almost as loudly as the heavy doors under the flailing wind. Bundling a cloak over it all, he roused the shivering slaves from their pallets and set them to work coaxing the embers in the fire pits into roaring flames. Some he sent with kindling and buckets of coal to the individual guest bowers to re-stoke the braziers. They had to get heat into the hall, and quickly. The temperature was so low ’twas dangerous.

  In the kitchen, slightly warmer than the rest of the hall because the fires were kept burning low all night in preparation for the morn’s cooking, Alewyn and Alyce were also awake and rousing their lads and maids. When the lords and their ladies woke, the lords—and some of the ladies—would be bellowing for hot food and drink and would take not kindly to having to wait.

  Ethelmar stood amid the three fire pits, his feet on the furs with their shielding warmth. He was giving orders to several stout, fur-wrapped young men to go to the village to check on things there, especially the older folks and solitary widows, when his warmly-dressed lord appeared from the kitchen.

  Ethelmar’s jaw dropped. “Thegn D’Auvrecher!”

  He had no notion the lord had even left his bower. What did he do in the kitchen? On cold morns, Thegn Renouf had never left his pallet ere the hall was warmed, and even Thegn Kenrick had rarely ventured out in cold such as this until after break
of day.

  “What do you do, my lord, rising so early and in this chill? Return you to the comfort of your bed until we have the hall warmed up a bit more.”

  “Nay, Ethelmar,” Fallard replied, though he grimaced as he drew his thick cloak of black fur more closely over his shoulders. “’Tis nigh daylight and I want to see for myself what conditions this storm has wrought. There may needs be changes made to the day’s plans, and there may be those who are in need of our aid.”

  “Aye, my lord, I have only this moment sent lads to take stock in the village. But ’tis a morn to rival the cold of a witch’s eye, and I fear even for the sentries on the wall.”

  “Good man!” Fallard approved as Ethelmar hurried to help him with the doors. “I will want somewhat hot when I return,” he added through clenched teeth as the force of the gale slammed into his face.

  The doors slammed shut behind him. Ethelmar shivered again and hurried to the kitchen.

  ***

  Saint’s bones, but it was cold! Fallard maneuvered down the icy steps and trudged through the storm toward the stairs leading to the north guard tower. He hoped he could find the stairs. Though ’twas not far nigh to sun’s rising, ’twas still dark in the courtyard. But he saw little sense in carrying a torch, for out in the open, the wind would never allow it to stay lit. He glanced up and was relieved to see through the folds of his hood the faint glow of lights within the tower. They looked like blurry, crazily gyrating fireflies through the driving ice and snow flurries, but provided him the guide he needed.

  Faith! Nourmaundie was never like this. In all the twelvemonths he had lived in this land, he had never quite grown accustomed to the difference in climate. Here in the south ’twas not so bad, though more damp and wetter than home, but he had once gone on a covert winter foray in Northumbria for William and by the time he returned, he had been certain he would never thaw again. This morn, felt like that.