Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  Sweet air flowed through the open window, carrying with it the damp smell of the river. Drifting up from the garden came the rambling, happy twitter of a goldfinch and the repetitious notes of a thrush. From below in the hall she heard the low murmur as Fallard arbitrated between two of the burhfolc who disputed the placement of a fence.

  Her mind wandered, despite her effort to marshal her thoughts.

  The morn had not begun well. In their first serious disagreement, she had argued with Fallard over the disposition of the ceremony.

  “I am displeased, Ysane, that Cynric refuses to attend.”

  “He will be here, Fallard, but not seen. ’Tis his way.”

  “His way is wrong. He insults us both by refusing to attend in the proper manner, especially when I have promised safe passage.”

  “And I care not where he is, so long as he may see and hear. I want the ceremony on top of the south wall so he may observe from his vantage point at forest’s edge.”

  “Nay! Does Cynric care for you so little he will lay not aside his animosity to honor your wish, then the loss is his. Bah! This is a foolish argument. I will send men to drag him to the ceremony, does he refuse to attend willingly.”

  “You will never find him! Do you seek him, you will only succeed in keeping him away entirely. What difference does it make whether he is seen, or not?”

  “’Tis the principle of the thing. He is a man. He should act like one.”

  “You understand not. He was an unwelcome son in Wulfsinraed while our father lived. The day will come when his bitterness and sense of estrangement will end, but until that time I will force him not to come into the burh to pay homage to his father’s memory. ’Tis enough, aye, a true beginning of healing, that he is willing to watch from a distance.”

  She then dropped her best argument. “Besides, ’twould be easier for everyone to see and hear clearly if the ceremony was on top of the wall.”

  Fallard sighed and she knew she had won. “’Tis that I fear for your safety, my love. I have no reason to believe the attempts on your life are at an end, and to stand on the wall is to be exceptionally vulnerable.”

  “I know, and I truly thank you for your concern, but who could hurt me when I am surrounded by warriors? You will be close. I have no fears for my safety, my love.”

  In the end, because the runestones were Fallard’s gift to her, he relented. He threw up his hands. “Very well. So long as the ceremony is held inside the tower, you may do as you please.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, but later discovered that when she walked away, he ordered the guard on the wall doubled, muttering that it seemed half the burh garrison had to follow her around.

  He was still grumbling.

  But he was also less worried, and she got her way.

  “Gemma, deorling. I know I should have sent a missive sooner, but so much has happened since Fallard sent the last messenger to Blackbridge. I have been overwhelmed, and was ill from an adder bite. (Fear not. I am quite recovered, and none the worse for it.)

  I will write of other events soon, but this morn I wished to recount for you the ceremony of the runestones. ’Twas so lovely. How I wish you could have seen it, but I will describe it as best I may.

  The people filed around the stones, each of which is painted in the prettiest colors of green, white, red and yellow. They remind me of my roses. Angelet’s stone is a little smaller than father’s. They are set into their places beside the crypts.

  I must admit my throat was rather thick when Fallard unveiled Angelet’s stone (please forgive the smears in the ink on this page). I did something quite out of character then. I rose on my toes and kissed him—in front of everyone. He took it well, the wonderful man. Methinks he was not overly abashed by my forwardness, for he took me in his arms and returned my gesture with much fervor. The people cheered.

  Angelet’s stone is very beautiful. The foremost side bears the likeness of a babe cradled in its mother’s arms. A likeness of the hall is etched on another. The third bears the sweetest inscription. I transcribe it here: ‘I, Fallard D’Auvrecher, Baron of Wulfsinraed and my wife, Ysane, daughter of Kenrick Wulfingas, do erect this stone in memory of my wife’s infant daughter, Angelet. We commit her innocent soul to the merciful God.’

  Father’s stone is inscribed thusly: ‘Together with Cynric and Gemma, I, Ysane of Wulfsinraed, erect this stone in memory of our father, Kenrick Wulfsingas, King’s Thegn and Eorl of Wulfsinraed, a valiant and honorable man. May God bless his soul with everlasting peace.’

  (As you see deorling, we forgot you not.)

  When all had viewed the runestones, we sent everyone to the south clearing. I climbed with Fallard, Roana, Father Gregory and Wurth to the guard tower there (Fallard and I had a small disagreement about that. I wanted to be out on the wall, but he insisted I must stay in the tower…’twas in regards to my safety. You know how men must be.) But Worth was allowed to be on the wall, and you should have heard how clear and booming was his voice as he read the inscriptions to the people. I have no doubt Cynric heard him easily.

  I stood in one of the tower windows to speak of father, of the events of his life that made him the great man he was. Roana spoke of his character, reminding his people of how well he cared for them as their thegn. She made them laugh when she related that silly story about him and mother. You know, the one where father came home unexpectedly one eve after being overlong with King Edward, and pretended to be a traveling scop. I was but ten summers, but still I remember our mother’s face when father began to sing their favorite lay. You remember, Gemma? Mother screamed his name and the hall grew silent. Then she began to weep and all the while, father kept singing, but he smiled with his eyes. Then mother stood up and said, ‘Kenrick, you fool!’ Then she threw her goblet at him, but of course she missed. He laughed, set aside his harp and rose to go to her, and she laughed and threw herself into his arms. He swung her round and round, until we thought they would both collapse. Then he carried her to their bower and we saw them not for two days. ’Twas wonderful.

  When all of our speeches were over, Father Gregory prayed for the blessing of the Almighty upon us all, then Fallard announced the people were free to spend the rest of the day as they saw fit. That elicited a rousing cheer, I must say. ’Twas well done of him.

  ’Twas then, after Fallard’s kind gesture, I saw that for which I waited all morn. Cynric stepped out from between two giant oaks. Our brother’s gaze met mine, and we needed no words to understand one another. Then he raised his hand and smiled. A moment later, he was gone again. But he came, Gemma, he came! I am content. (Please forgive the overabundance of blots in the ink.)

  How grateful I was then for Fallard. His support was much needed and even more appreciated. I fear I wept overmuch, there in the privacy of the tower, for the sweetness of the ceremony and because methinks our brother is in grave danger. I dare say no more, but be much in prayer for him. (Oh, faith! I really should scrape the vellum clean and start over. How you will ever understand what I have written with all these smears, I can tell not.)

  There will be feasting and dancing for all the burhfolc this eve, of course. ’Twill be a fine end to a ceremony of great moment.

  There is much more to tell you, though….”

  “My lady?” Lynnet’s soft voice hailed from the doorway. “I bring a meal, since you broke not your fast this morn. Will you eat?”

  “I will,” Ysane said. She used her linen square to blot her wet face and blow her nose, and then moved aside her writing materials. “I believe I am hungrier than I knew.”

  The slave arranged the trencher on the table, with a goblet of mead. Ysane’s stomach growled at the smell of of sliced baked chicken, fresh buttered bread and a blackberry tart.

  “My thanks, Lynnet. That will be all.”

  “I am beset by well-meaning visitors, Gemma. I begin to wonder will I have time to finish this missive before the day is out! Lynnet interrupted my disc
ourse to bring my nooning meal. Then I heard Roana speak with my guards—all six of them, now, do you believe it!—who stand watch at my door. She said she wished to know which of two headrails, lavender or yellow, to wear for sup, but methinks she but worries I grieve overmuch in the bidding of ‘fare well’ to my precious babe. Before she took her leave, Ieldramodor came with Marlee (they watched the ceremony from this room). She had naught but good things to say about it all, and Fallard’s role. She thinks very highly of him, you know.

  I had but picked up my quill to continue when Fallard interrupted me, but in the nicest way! He took the quill from my hand, threw it upon the table, drew me to my feet and kissed me until I thought I must needs beg aid to stand. Then he strode away without a word. Such a romantic man. See you my smiles?

  Finally, Ethelmar came and cleared his throat in that funny way of his to remind me Alewyn asked to speak with me ere sup. A woman’s work is never finished, as you well know.

  Last of all, my deorling sister, I will write more at a later time, but I would have you worry not for me, for I have nigh all my heart could desire. I am so happy. No woman could ask for a better husband than Fallard. I am quite hopelessly in love with him, and harbor good hope he also learns to care for me. But should he not, still he is good to me, and to our people, and he has promised to allow our brother into the fold of Wulfsinraed where he belongs, if that is what Cynric wishes. If not, he has promised to aid our brother in finding a position, elsewhere. But when he returns from his latest travels, I will do all in my power to bring him home to stay.

  And now, I must bring this discourse to an end ere you sleep from sheer boredom. I am so glad and grateful to hear that you all fare well. ’Tis my fondest hope to see you and the children, especially little Orland, my newest nephew, ere the twelvemonth is out. I send my love to the children, to Meldred and Faucon, to Arnulf and of a speciality, to you, deorling. Ysane.”

  ***

  During the unexpected freedom given the burhfolc on the day of the runestone ceremony, the slave Leda used the carefree and disordered merrymaking to briefly elude her watcher and make her way to the hidden place. The message she left was short.

  “I can do not as you ask. He guards her well, and they watch me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The air grew warmer as spring waxed and waned. The mild month of tending sheep passed into the month of summer reaping.

  Tenney and Wigmaer returned with the two Saxon thegns from Montceaster and Nevyndon in chains. Their reports proved the men guilty of theft, but with no evidence that any of the ill-gotten gains had swelled any purses but their own. Fallard examined the assessment of his hoarders and ordered the two terrified men flogged and sent to William, who appointed two new lords, one Norman and one Breton, to take their places.

  Naught further untoward occurred. Vigilance around Ysane relaxed although Fallard refused to withdraw it completely.

  He deemed the patrols he sent out a wasted effort, for the rebels appeared to have truly withdrawn from the region. Twice howbeit, his men happened upon patrols from Witham. Those troops passed the word that further south the rebels grew bold, especially around London. The rampaging bands of Saxons were said to have fled the Wulfsinraed region because of the vigilance of Lord D’Auvrecher.

  Small parties of Norman citizens leaving London were attacked on the roads, the men ruthlessly slaughtered. Oft times, even the innocent were spared not, the women raped or murdered and the children taken. Few of the little ones were seen again, though ’twas later learned some were sold to slavers and through diligent search, recovered. Armed patrols whose numbers were too few faced the same murderous fate. Lords woke to find outlying crops burned and the farm cottages nigh them pillaged, the farmers and their families missing or dead. Herds of food animals were destroyed. A flock of sheep belonging to Blackbridge was ravaged, the shepherds run off and the sheep slaughtered. While some of the carcasses were taken for the rebel’s use, most were wastefully left to scavengers.

  An outraged William responded by drawing on ancient Saxon custom and declaring the rebels “wolf’s head” outlaws whereby any man must, on pain of his own death, kill the rebels on sight as if they were wild and ravening animals. He also ordered a temporary increase of the Murdrum fine he had reinstated after his coronation. This law ordained a punitive fine be levied on the English inhabitants of the specific fief where Normans were found murdered.

  Civilians were directed to travel in large caravans guarded by trusted knights and soldiers. The commanders of the garrisons were ordered to send out patrols of no less than thirty troops. Burhs outside the city doubled and tripled their guards. Throughout the south, word was sent to Norman holdings—and to Saxon thegns whose oath of loyalty was freely given to William, for they, too, suffered attacks—to increase their watch.

  But at Wulfsinraed, except for the increase in vigilance Fallard had already ordered, life went on as usual, for the depredations of the rebels were far away. Ceorl’s family moved into their new home and the last of the storm repairs of other homes were under way. Haymaking, sheep shearing and the preparing of fleeces for the making of cloth consumed the daylight hours. Huntsmen spent days abroad, returning home with meat to feed hungry burhfolc and furs to warm them when came winter’s chill.

  Spring crops slowly ripened. Four-footed babies of every description scampered and frolicked in the pens and pastures. The meadows were awash in a sea of color while a haze of green covered the land. Fallard watched in private delight as the full bloom of early summer engulfed the village with the rioting blaze of color he had foreseen in his first days as lord.

  The love between Fallard and Ysane blossomed along with the land. The burh women wagered whether Ysane or Roana would be the first to be found increasing, while the men teased without mercy both Fallard and Trifine over their besotted state.

  The only pinprick of serious concern brought to Fallard’s attention came, as summer waxed, by way of his reeve, Aldfrid. The man was worried over the lack of moisture. Rainfall had been normal after the unexpected blizzard, but as summer progressed and the time drew nigh for planting of fall crops, it had slowed to naught. While none wanted storms at this time of year, the slow, gentle showers necessary to crop growth had not come. If none fell within the next few seven-days, Aldfrid feared a drought. Fallard met with Tenney and Ethelmar and ordered supplies be sequestered, in case.

  ***

  At break of dawn early in the month of mowing, Ysane sat in the window embrasure of the bower she shared with Fallard. She inhaled deeply to savor the glorious fragrance of the roses in her garden. Woven through the smell of the roses drifted the scent of the lavender. The two scents together were nigh to overpowering. Thanks to judicious watering from the lowering river, the burh gardens flourished, if naught else did in the drought.

  She leaned forward to watch as a red deer hind with two fawns wandered out of the shadows of the forest and crossed the far edge of the clearing, heading to the river to drink. Already the new day was unseasonably warm and with water scarce, the river, and the lake in the distance, had become popular watering places. The animals moved without hurry, sensing no threat. The hind stopped to briefly graze on yellowing meadow grass, then all three passed beyond her sight. Despite her worry over the lack of rain, the little group brought a smile to her countenance as she turned back to the room.

  She lifted her heavy hair to allow the morning air to cool the heated skin of her nape. Fallard still slept, and she waited for him to awaken. She had news, and decided this morn was the perfect time to tell him. Crossing the chamber, she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He lay as he oft did, spread-eagled on his back, one arm thrown over his head, with but the lightest of bedcovers tangled about his waist. A faint sheen of sweat glazed his forehead and bare chest. His big body occupied most of the surface of the bed.

  She studied him, thoroughly enjoying this rare chance to observe him unaware. His hair had grown considerably in the months
since his arrival and now it stuck out in tousled spikes all over his head. The bluish cast to the black had deepened from time spent in the sun without his helm. The powerful muscles of his arms and torso appeared ready to leap into action despite his somnolent state, the skin bronzed as if cast from that brown-gold metal.

  His breathing was deep and steady, his mouth relaxed. She had heard the burh women speak of how in sleep, men’s faces lost the hard lines and angles that characterized them while awake, making them look younger. Fallard looked about as innocent as Grendel. Betimes she wondered if he had ever been young. Not that she minded. A playful grin curved her lips as she reached to trace the angry scar on his left shoulder and then spread her palm in the springy black hair that covered his chest.

  ***

  Fallard was not asleep. He lay quiet and still, and waited for her to return to bed. When her fingers fanned out over his skin, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her full against him and rolled over with her beneath him, all in one lightning movement. She yelped, and startled moss green eyes blinked indignantly.

  Then she started to laugh. “You cheated,” she huffed, and she cuffed him with her free hand, only to find that wrist also imprisoned.

  He straddled her hips, pulling both wrists above her head and holding them while he plundered her lips. “Nay, ’tis but a ploy a warrior uses when he wishes to take an enemy by surprise,” he breathed against her mouth.

  Her brows flew up as her eyes widened. “I am your enemy, then?”

  “Oh, aye, and the most dangerous of them all.” His mouth ravaged the soft skin beneath her chin. “A man with such a foe must make use of every advantage he may find, especially those deemed unfair. ’Tis only wisdom.”

  “‘Wisdom’, ’tis, then? Methinks mayhap, I should see these advantages you speak of as lessons, and learn from them.”