Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  He shuddered at thought of his delicate rose in the company of a man such as de Pardieu, and even more so now she carried his child.

  The rage in Domnall’s gaze and the frustrated sympathy in Trifine’s nigh undid him. He slammed his fist against the table so hard the massive furnishing vibrated. “I must find a way to prove Ysane is not involved, willingly or otherwise, with the rebels, but I have no time! I am to leave for London within a half-day of the delivery of the missive.”

  “Fallard, William knows not Ysane bears your child.”

  Fallard’s head snapped up at Trifine’s quiet comment. “What mean you?”

  “She can be not given to another so long as she carries your babe. ’Tis the law. Use it.”

  Relief flooded Fallard. “Aye, ’tis truth. So crazed are my thoughts I considered it not.” Fearing his legs would not support him, he jerked out a chair and sat. “She would still be imprisoned in the abbey, but she would be safe, at least until after the birth.”

  “Then we have seven months…,” Domnall began.

  “Six,” Fallard said.

  “Aye, six months to find the evidence we need.”

  “And we will find it,” Trifine said. “To that, I give my word. Enough proof to still even William’s most paranoid fancies.”

  Fallard looked into the eyes of his oldest and newest captains, seeking hope, any hope. He found it. “My thanks, my friends. Ysane is….”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “’Tis understood, my lord.”

  “Another possibility arises here, Fallard.” Trifine filled a tankard and handed it to his captain, then drew another for Domnall and himself. “I have thought much on past treacheries by Ruald, and of the slave Leda’s possible role with the rebels. Despite our watchfulness, we can find no certain evidence to link her with them, and you are reluctant to punish her without that proof.

  “As you know, I was raised at court. ’Tis no immodest claim on my part to state my experience with the various wiles practiced by females is more…extensive than yours. The type of treachery I now have in mind is that which might first take root in the heart of a woman such as Leda.”

  “Go on,” Fallard said.

  “We have received no word, one way or the other, that your messages—in truth, that any messages—have reached William from Wulfsinraed. Even in this missive, William offers no acknowledgement of receipt of the communications we have sent, and none of our couriers have returned, though there has been time for most to do so. We have been so preoccupied with events, none of us has taken time to think through what that might mean.” Trifine looked straight at Fallard and said, his voice soft, “Mayhap, Fallard, our dispatches were intercepted, and others substituted in their place.”

  “Saint’s toes!” Fallard breathed, getting to his feet. “Aye!” He said then, spitting the word out. “Aye, that would bring William’s wrath down upon us all. We are fortunate our king is not one to believe whatever tale he may be told and act accordingly, without first giving the accused a chance to prove the falsehood.”

  “Aye, William is a hard man, but just, in especial where a favored one, such as yourself, is concerned, Fallard. He knows your loyalty. He would wait to hear your side.”

  Fallard swore again and half leaned, half sat on the table edge. He sighed heavily. “You are right. That is exactly what he does. He calls me to his side, and Ysane is caught in the middle. Bah! A fool I have been. All my defenses and safeguards were to defend against Ruald’s treachery here. It came never to my thought he might take the offensive in such a way, and with William.”

  His companions said naught, for there was naught to reply. None of them had forethought of treachery so sly.

  He began to pace again. “Would that I could find a way to bring the rebels to me, rather than journey to London.”

  In light of William’s order, he wanted badly to drag Leda to the interrogation pit and force the truth from her, not only of involvement with the rebels, but with the attempts on the life of his wife. He had stayed his hand so far because he had no clear evidence of wrong-doing, and because a slave had no rights or protections save those given by their masters. ’Twas not his way to offer hurt to those with no means of defense. But mayhap, ’twas time to set aside that way. He could ill afford the noble ideals of kindness and mercy if the life of the woman he loved depended upon their absence.

  But even as he thought it, his mind shied away from inflicting torment on a woman. Yet, he would trade Leda’s life for that of Ysane’s without a moment’s hesitation. He walked to the window and looked out upon the orchard. His gaze followed the road to the cool courtyard of the chapel. Suddenly, he smiled, but mirth played no part in the stretching of his lips. Mayhap, there was a way to learn of Ruald’s intent from the girl without physically damaging her.

  He turned back to his captains. “Follow my lead.”

  He gave no indication of his intent as they trailed him into the hall.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “Trifine, bring the slave Leda to me!” Fallard ordered. His tone harked of deadly menace. “Tell Harold to bring the key to the interrogation pit…and Trifine? Bid him bring the box we recently removed.”

  Domnall and Trifine exchanged a glance. Trifine nodded and moved to obey.

  “Fallard, what is happening?” Ysane’s voice was anxious.

  “’Tis naught to worry you, my love,” Fallard said, softening his voice as he turned to her. He pulled her into his arms and held her close while he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Then he released her and stepped away, not meeting her eyes. “Go to our bower and don your headrail. I would have you visit the village. Find there tasks befitting the lady of the hall. Come not home until I send for you. And Ysane, bring my gloves.”

  His eyes found Roana, who had come into the hall after his retirement to the hoarding room. “I would have you accompany her, my lady. You will go now.”

  Roana nodded and slipped away to the bower she shared with Trifine to make herself ready.

  “Fallard?” Ysane’s voice was a whisper.

  “Obey me, Ysane.”

  The steel that underscored his words left no room for argument. He made no further attempt to ease the worry in her eyes.

  She left and returned to the hall moments later, attaching her headrail as she came. He took the gloves she carried. Roana, duty basket in hand, linked arms with her and they went together out the great doors as Trifine appeared from the southeast tower, dragging a smirking Leda.

  Halting before his captain, Trifine hauled the slave in front of him. The First wrapped his fingers around a fistful of her short hair and pulled back her head so she was forced to meet Fallard’s eyes.

  “I know you made several attempts to slay my wife.” Fallard made his voice bitter as ice. “You will now confess, and tell me also of the plans of your lover, Ruald. I would have all that you know.”

  Leda’s complacency slipped a notch.

  Fallard gave her merit for courage as she kept silent and tried to stare him down, but he had no time to waste. “I know, slave. I know what you have done. I offer you one last chance. Tell me now, all you know of the activities of the rebels around London, of the plans to attack this hall, of the waylaying of our messages and of your murderous actions, and mayhap, my judgment will go easier on you.”

  Her eyes widened and she began to tremble, but still she defied him. He suspected she thought him weak because his hand had never been harsh toward her.

  “Well and good, slave,” Fallard said to her. “I now honor your choice.”

  He nodded to Trifine and strode to the hall doors. Flinging them wide, he stepped outside as Trifine dragged Leda, his hand still fisted in her hair, onto the steps in view of those who were without.

  Fallard lifted his voice so all could hear. “I would have your attention, folk of Wulfsinraed!”

  Silence fell.

  “So that all may know Fallard D’Auvrecher is loyal to King William, hear now
my proclamation. The slave Leda has been declared guilty of conspiracy with the Saxons who have chosen to rebel against their king. She also stands accused of the attempted murder of the Lady Ysane, my wife. In front of witnesses, she was offered clemency did she confess. She defied my mercy. She will be offered no further leniency. Therefore, be it known my judgment for the crimes of Leda the slave is death by the punishments of fire and lash.” He looked at Trifine. “Remove her to the pit!”

  Collective gasps rose from around the courtyard and in the hall. Fallard caught sight of Roul and Fauques. Their eyes were wide and wondering.

  The faint bravado that still lingered on Leda’s face disappeared, to be replaced by terror. She blanched and nigh fainted. She would have fallen had not Trifine held her.

  Domnall and Trifine, each taking an arm, half-carried her down the steps. She began to fight and shriek, her screams interspersed with curses no woman should have known. Domnall glanced at Trifine over her head.

  Fallard’s mouth tightened. The first marshal knew not what game he played. But Domnall seemed to relax, as if he saw in the First’s eyes that which satisfied him.

  As they traversed the courtyard, silence met them as all sidled quickly out of their way. Young children were hustled away from the area by women whose eyes were huge and horror-filled.

  They were met at the door of the interrogation pit by Second-Marshal Harold, who held the key to the pit and an open wooden box, filled with a battery of frightful instruments, in his hands. His expression was starkly unhappy. Leda moaned.

  Fallard nodded. Harold unlocked the door and led the way into the dark chamber. He went round the room and lit the tallow candles in their holders on the walls. Together, Trifine and Domnall divested Leda of the threadbare syrce she wore, leaving her clad only in her equally worn cyrtel. They shackled her wrists high above her head with her back to the wall, and then locked her ankles into the lower manacles, as well. She gaped as Harold started a roaring blaze in the fire pit against the back wall and began to lay the necessary instruments into the heat.

  She screamed again when Trifine picked up the whip and lashed the air viciously in front of her.

  He chuckled. “Why do you cry out, girl? We have yet to touch you. Little fool. You thought not to be caught in your treachery. Think you any will come to your aid? Hah! Naught are you but a slave. None will care when your screams fill this chamber. Your lover is far away, but were he here, he could do naught to save you, even did he choose. Truth to tell, could we lay our hands on him, we would have him join you in our play.”

  “Nay,” Leda screamed. “Please, I beg you, do this not! I am innocent. I have done naught.”

  Fallard moved to stand in front of her. He took her chin in his fingers, his expression unrelenting and his grip firm. He held her amber gaze, as a serpent would hypnotize its prey. She wept freely and loudly, then whimpered pitifully when he stepped away to the fire. He lifted a knife with a blade already heated to a glowing red. Returning to his prisoner, he stood with the blade so close to her face the heat forced her to flinch away.

  “Mayhap we will begin with this toy,” he said, the tenor of his voice conversational. He turned the searing blade this way and that as if choosing where against her skin to lay it first. “’Tis my favorite, for it both slices and sears at the same time, doubling the agony. Even strong men scream from the pain. I have seen some rather exquisite examples of facial scars created with it. What think you, Trifine? Shall we start with the face? Or mayhap she might prefer we begin lower.”

  He laughed cruelly when he brought the fiery blade close to her breast. She screamed again.

  “You ask an interesting question, Captain,” Trifine mused, “but one that mayhap, we should let the slave answer, since she is the one to receive the weapon’s caress. But, should you ask of me which I would prefer to administer, ’twould be the kiss of the whip. It has been some time since I honed my skills on a living subject.”

  Fallard laughed again and pointed to Trifine. “My First jests with you, slave. He is a master with that implement. I have seen him slice the skin from a woman’s belly with one slash.”

  The sudden flicker in his First’s light eyes betrayed his effort to keep from laughing.

  Fallard lied through his teeth. Trifine was indeed talented in the use of the whip, but he had never heard of anyone that good. But even if he was, his First would not use his skill against a woman unless directly ordered. But Leda would not know that.

  “So,” Fallard continued, raising the knife back to her cheek. “Methinks we will let you choose. The blade, or the whip? The face, or…? What say you, slave?”

  But Leda only screamed, her eyes all but popping from her face as she writhed in futile effort to avoid the glowing blade.

  “Forgive me girl, I understood not your choice,” Fallard said. “Ah, but mayhap you have no preference? Well and good, then I will choose for you. Methinks we will begin with the lash and follow that with the knife, since we will have need to stop the bleeding with the heated blade.”

  Again, he stepped back and his voice was sharper than the lash of the whip Trifine wielded.

  “Strip her!” he ordered. Domnall hesitated, blinked and then moved to obey.

  Leda fainted.

  Trifine looked at Fallard and offered a crooked smile, his glance rueful. “Methinks mayhap, you went too far, Fallard.”

  Harold sighed, the sound like the flutter of a bird’s wing in the ugly chamber.

  Fallard frowned, annoyed. “Mayhap, I did, but ’tis her terror we need. Domnall, revive her. ’Tis time to see if our traitorous little slave will now cooperate freely.”

  “What if she still refuses, Captain?” Curiosity was the only apparent emotion underlying his First’s question.

  “I warrant I have thought not that far,” Fallard answered. “’Tis truth I thought her of less courage. I expected her to have confessed all by now.”

  “Aye, that was also my thought.”

  “Then, you mean not to torture her?” Harold’s relief was so great he grinned like a fool. “’Tis but trickery, to force her to speak?”

  As Domnall approached Leda with a bucket of water, Fallard glanced at the second marshal. “Methinks you should wipe that smile off your face, Harold, unless you can make it appear as if you are anticipating pleasure from her pain.”

  “Aye, my thegn.” The grin disappeared as if it had never been.

  Fallard nodded, took a deep breath and rearranged his own expression as he lifted the knife. Trifine raised the whip. Domnall threw the water in Leda’s face and then slapped her cheeks, far more gently than a tortured reality would have called for. Her eyelids drifted open slowly. She blinked rapidly, then stared blankly at him. Her eyes flickered around the pit and she jerked away, the terror flashing again.

  “We have been discussing your fate while you slept, slave,” Fallard said as he turned a little away from her. He held the knife as nigh as was comfortable to his own eyes, as if fascinated by the deep orange-red color of the metal. “’Twas said to me—and this was naught but a suggestion—that mayhap, we should seek once again to gain information from you ere we begin our play. After all, once the agony reaches a certain level, the victim is no longer capable of coherent thought, much less speech. We would have what you know ere you reach that point.”

  Fallard whirled suddenly and fixed her with a gaze as cold as death. The knife was thrust again in front of her. “What say you, slave? Have you aught to tell us about your lover’s plans? Mayhap, if you reveal all, including your role in the attempts on my wife’s life, I might be persuaded to forego my previous judgment. I could choose to offer mercy and kill you quickly, instead of with endless hours of agony. I might even think to let you live, or, since you failed in your task to kill my wife, I might choose to lighten your judgment to a mere twenty lashes. At my behest, my First can make those lashes light, barely raising a welt, though he is also capable of skinning you alive and flaying your flesh to
the bone.”

  Trifine nodded. That much at least, was truth.

  “Would any of those choices loosen your tongue, girl?”

  Leda could not hide the hope that sprang into her eyes as she stared at her tormenter.

  He waited. Still, she spoke not.

  He moved to the fire and placed the knife back into the flame, then lazily retrieved a red-hot implement with a wicked, razor-sharp hook on one end.

  He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “’Twould seem the girl has naught to say, Trifine. Mayhap, your suggestion was foolish, and I would choose not to hear her confession now even did she think to make it. Methinks I will insure she cannot.” He turned and held aloft the heated hook. “Aye, I have made my decision. I will begin her punishment by slicing her tongue into ribbons and cutting them off, one by one. The heat from the blade will sear the flesh as I cut, leaving no concern she may bleed to death ere our play is finished. Aid me, Domnall. Hold open her mouth. We will feed the pieces to the dogs.”

  Domnall reached for her.

  Leda shrieked, then suddenly broke and began to babble. “Nay! Nay! What seek you from me? Only ask, I will tell all you wish to know, but hurt me not. Please, I beg you, do this not. Ask me aught, I will speak. I swear!”

  She began to scream without ceasing.

  “Silence, slave, or I will give you reason to squeal!”

  Domnall dropped his hold on her chin and clapped his hand over her mouth, cutting off the noise. Tears streamed down her face as she sagged in her bonds.

  Trifine looked at Fallard. “Mayhap, she is ready to speak to us now, Captain.”

  Fallard nodded at Domnall, who dropped his hand.

  Leda whimpered. Eyes closed tight, she talked.

  Profound relief washed through Fallard, though he allowed not a whit of it to show in his mien. By the saints! He hated what he had been forced to do, but by his action, they were learning the truth, and he would have the proof he needed to save his beloved.