Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  ***

  Outside the pit, the quiet in the courtyard was nigh absolute. Roul and Fauques waited in a corner outside the stable, pretending a manly nonchalance. Men with grim faces, and women pale as fulled fleece went about their business as muffled screams rose from the chamber below the ground. All had believed their new lord a man of less barbarity. The fear that held them in thrall while Renouf ruled the burh had returned in full force.

  The screams were cut off abruptly, as if by the sharpest blade. To many of those who listened, the silence was worse.

  For the time it took the sun to rise nigh to mid-morn position, the quiet in the pit reigned. Then the door opened and Leda emerged, stumbling, sobbing, yet apparently undamaged, though her face was chalk white and her red-rimmed eyes dazed. Her steps wobbled so wildly the First had perforce to support her with both hands.

  Harold locked the pit door and returned to the gatehouse, whistling softly to himself, and carrying his box of unpleasant—and to all appearances, unused—equipment. Domnall walked through the tunnel to find Ysane and Roana. Trifine escorted Leda back inside the hall. A great, communal breath seemed to sigh through the courtyard, echoed not the least by the two young squires.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Fallard stopped at the top of the hall steps before the great doors and once more faced his people. In the day’s growing heat, sweat trickled down his brow, but he ignored it.

  One by one, he met the eyes of those willing to face him. Many quailed before the white-hot rage that radiated from him like the heat waves that shimmered above the courtyard, for he now knew of all three attempts to kill Ysane, and knew who had given the order. As suspected, the missives he had sent to William had gone astray, the messengers disposed of. New reports, subtly injurious to both himself and his wife as only a cunning woman could craft, had been substituted in their place.

  “Leda is unharmed,” he said, and though he raised not his voice, his words were pitched to carry to the furthest corner. “But know this, my people. Whether or not you accept William of Nourmaundi as the rightful king of this land, he is king, and treason will be not tolerated. Nor will I allow any threat to stand against my wife, or any other who obeys my word and goes about their rightful business.

  “The slave has confessed to conspiracy against her sovereign. She has acted as spy for the rebel Ruald of Sebfeld. She has also admitted to attempting, thrice, to slay the Lady Ysane.”

  He silently drew breath and waited for the response to his declaration. Trifine stepped out of the hall and took his place beside him, even as Roul and Fauques raced to join them. Ysane and Roana appeared with Domnall at the gate. His wife looked ill, and he wondered at her thoughts. Then a notion occurred to him and his eyes narrowed. The look he gave her was grim when she met his gaze.

  Fortin the Bald, the brawny burh smith, stepped forward into the tense silence. Fallard gestured for him to speak.

  “What will happen to Leda, my thegn?” The smith’s manner was bold as he faced Fallard. He held his forger’s hammer as if he hefted a weapon he was preparing to use. Others among the men inched forward, pinning Fallard with unfriendly glares. Fortin was well-liked, and held influence among them.

  Trifine stilled. Silently, and unnoticed by the restless group of burhfolc, a number of Fallard’s knights moved into place behind them. On the wall, arrows were quietly notched into bowstrings. Domnall stepped in front of Ysane and Roana, and urged them back into the tunnel.

  Fallard held up one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. Aware that Leda had spent many nights with the blacksmith since Ruald’s departure and he that had become her protector, he held to his temper, but met squarely Fortin’s belligerent stare.

  “Think you to challenge my authority, Fortin?” The tenor of his voice was soft, but beneath the quiet words ran deadly menace. “I will gladly face your hammer with my sword, but ’tis certain the outcome will be not to your favor. Shall I order the gallows readied then, and your grave dug?”

  The smith seemed to cease breathing. He did not quail, but neither did he make answer. Finally, he bowed his head, then lowered his hammer and let it drop, his aggression draining away. “Nay, my thegn. I but wish to know the woman’s fate.”

  Fallard let his gaze roam over the crowd. “Look around you, then, and to the wall.”

  He waited for the threat to register.

  The people became aware of their peril. Sullen expressions yielded to fear.

  He nodded. “Provoke me again and death will be your reward. I have told you I am a man of just decree, but mistake not fairness for weakness. I will hesitate not to offer judgment—and mete out retribution.

  “As for Leda, she will be punished for her crimes, though not by my hand. Her offense against her king is great, and ’twill be his decision how she will pay her debt. She will be sent to him, as will all others caught defying his rule.

  “As for any who choose to defy my rule at Wulfsinraed, be prepared to face the lash, the pit or at need, the gallows.”

  Peot the Potter moved forward. He had not been among those who supported Fortin. He faced Fallard, his manner subdued. “We have spoken our oath to you, Thegn D’Auvrecher. We will keep it.” The scowl he leveled against the smith was fierce. “All of us.”

  “Be about your business then. These events are closed. ’Tis my will that none speak of them to any outsider, on pain of the lash. Understand you my order?”

  They murmured agreement and dispersed.

  “All my tests should go as easy, Fallard,” Trifine remarked, “though I admit these Saxons surprise me. Few serfs back home would dare even so much.”

  “’Twas to be expected. Though not warriors, some of these men fought at Stamford Bridge and Sanguelac. They are not easily cowed. But I will allow it only once. I will have their obedience and loyalty, or I will have their life.” He paused. “I should punish Fortin, but the man’s skills as a smith are equal to those of Varin, and I need him whole, so Varin may serve only as man-at-arms.”

  Trifine grinned. “Aye. A one-handed smith is of little use.” He sobered. “They know your mettle, now, my friend. Methinks the lesson well learned. Your decision is wise.”

  Roana and Ysane approached, Domnall close behind.

  “Trifine, go with Domnall and choose threescore and ten of soldiers. I want a mix of hearth companions and my knights. Tell them to be ready to ride ere noontide. Pass the word we journey to London. Harold is to be left in charge of the burh defenses until Jehan is back from patrol, at which time he will take over until I return.” He looked at Roul and Fauques. “Make ready your lords’ equipage. We travel light, but ’tis not known for how long.”

  The two ran to do his bidding.

  Fallard followed Roana and Ysane into the relative cool of the hall.

  “My ladies, hear me.” He addressed Roana first. “Lady Roana, the king has called for a contingent from Wulfsinraed to come to London. I am to command a company whose responsibility is to find and destroy the rebels. Domnall and My First will travel with me, as will my lady wife. I therefore give leave for you to come with us as you desire, unless Trifine wills otherwise. As you heard, we leave ere noontide, so you have little time to prepare.”

  Roana’s eyes went wide at the news, but she nodded. “I thank you for your consideration, my lord. I will travel with you.”

  She hurried away.

  Fallard was left standing in the hall, staring at Ysane, who looked back with something akin to panic in her beautiful eyes. She trembled visibly. Fallard held out his hand and she took it.

  He led her to their bower and closed the door. He softened his expression but kept his tone stern. “I would know your thoughts, wife.”

  “You frightened a confession from Leda.”

  “Aye. ’Twas a regrettable ploy, one in which I found no pleasure, yet it worked. The girl remains unharmed, but now I know all she kens, and while she believes it but little, in truth, ’tis much. But tell me, if you knew
’twas a deceit, why then stand you before me as if you believe yourself my next victim?”

  “’Twas not the trick against Leda. ’Twas what I feared you would learn from her.” She said no more, and fought for composure, but could hide not her distress.

  He took pity on her, knowing what prompted the fear. “My rose, I will do all in my power to protect your brother. But Cynric, like his father ere him, has made his choice. In the end, I may be powerless to help him.”

  She gasped a sob and shuddered. Her eyes closed. “’Tis a relief in truth, now you know of Cynric’s activities. I have been so afraid for him. Yet I believe you will offer mercy where it might be granted.”

  “Wife, I have suspected his involvement almost since the beginning.”

  Her eyes flew wide and she wrapped her arms about her waist. “Even that day in the glade?”

  “Aye, and before.”

  “You could have taken him, but you did naught. Why?”

  “Because I had no proof.” He started to say he had also held his hand because of her love for her brother, but decided against it. ’Twas not a reason he wished to delve too deeply into, himself.

  He drew her to his chest. Her clutch upon his tunic was spasmodic, and she shook so hard her teeth nigh chattered. Fallard tightened his arms. He raised a hand to remove her headrail, then stroked her hair and whispered words of comfort.

  After a time, he set her from him. “’Tis truth we must be soon away. I will send Lynnet to help you pack.”

  ***

  Marlee, a smile on her old face, pushed Ysane out the door of Lady Hildeth’s bower. “I will explain all to her, lady, when her mind is clear. Go now!”

  Ysane grimaced and hurried down the stairs, dismayed her grandmother was unable to understand her farewell. With Tenney and Ethelmar hovering beside her, she edged toward the doors, talking almost without drawing breath as she reminded them of all that must still be done while summer’s warmth lay upon the land.

  “Ethelmar, you will work with Aldfrid to insure the stocks of fish and fowl are replenished. Hunting must not slack. Honey, berries and nuts must be gathered. Kegs of ale and mead must be restocked—see the alewife, Tenney—and enough candles dipped to see us through the winter. Forget not to have enough coal made for the braziers and wood cut for the fire pits, and the fall slaughtering will soon be upon us.

  “Oh, and do you have the keys to the spice locker and the coin box? I’ve left you more than enough coin, I am sure, Tenney, but should you need more, there is extra in the large chest in the lord’s bower. Jehan has the key. The spice peddler will stop by once more before winter. Ethelmar, did I remember to give you the spice list? And Tenney, forget not the annual delivery of wine from Boar’s Green is due next month, and oh dear, that reminds me, the cloth merchant comes this month and I cannot remember what I did with that list….”

  Ethelmar broke in on her frantic recitation. “My lady, be at ease, we have all in hand. Naught will be forgotten, and I know where lies the list for the cloth. You must go. They wait upon you and your lord appears to grow impatient.”

  Ysane whirled. Through the small crack in the doors, she could see Fallard standing by Tonnerre’s head. He scowled in her direction. Beyond him, Roul sought to hold a restless, prancing Freyja on a tight rein.

  She cast a pained glance at the hoarder and her dish-thegn. “Forgive me. I do trust you both, ’tis only that….”

  Tenney grinned. “M-m-lady, we know! G-g-o!”

  He pulled the door wide. The blast of heat nigh knocked her off her feet.

  “Mercy! This heat is vicious, and the poor men are in mail. They will roast alive ere we reach the shade beneath the trees.”

  And I am a lackwit, holding them up in this heat.

  She raced across the courtyard. Fallard, his expression tight, nigh threw her onto Freyja’s back. She winced, chagrined at her tardiness.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered. His lips compressed, but he said naught.

  She swiveled in the saddle to glance along the lines of mounted men, seeking Lynnet.

  Her maid stared back at her with a pleading glance. Lynnet hated travel and feared that every real and imagined danger, from murderous outlaws to fiery dragons, would surely destroy them all ere the day’s march reached its end. Ysane smiled encouragement. Lynnet accepted the refusal of her last appeal with an unhappy nod and looked down at her hands that gripped the saddle horn with white fingers. No one trusted her with control of her own horse. The hearth companion holding her reins had his head turned to chortle at one of the sentries on the wall who, despite the heat, was doing a little dance for his comrades.

  Off to Lynnet’s far side Roana’s new maid, Aelthid, a girl of much hardier humor, giggled with the young knight checking her cinch strap. That a strong attraction existed between the maid and the warrior was plain to see in the girl’s adoring expression and the hunger in the knight’s bold glance as he laughed up at her, teeth flashing. Near the far end of the company, Leda sat in sullen silence between two hulking soldiers. She was not bound, but as with Lynnet, her reins were held by another.

  Ysane turned forward in time to see the barely perceptible kiss of Fallard’s spurs against Tonnerre’s flanks. Instantly the great destrier trotted to the head of the cavalcade. Roul fell in behind him on his mount.

  The clatter of hooves against the paving stones changed to hollow thuds on the weathered wood of the bridge. Saddle leather creaked in counterpoint and the jingle of harness added its own irregular rhythm to the melody of the shifting, jostling column. As Freyja crossed the bridge in her turn, Ysane frowned at the turbid flow of the river, the dull sheen of its surface lower against the brown banks than she had ever seen. She felt as if she emerged from the tunnel into a furnace.

  The land looked scorched, yet the air was humid to the point of sapping one’s very humors. Even the trees of the forest seemed to bow in defeat, the varied greens of their leaves dulled by the powdery dirt that covered them. The meadow grass was a dreary yellow-brown that crackled beneath the horse’s hooves. Domnall had told her not even the elders could remember a dry time such as this.

  Fallard called her aside to wait with him on the far verge of the road as the first men in the column reined their horse’s muzzles to the west. As the column left the safety of the burh, there came a subtle increase of tension. It seemed to hover in the very air, though the men spoke quietly among themselves, and laughter sounded now and anon. Experienced warriors one and all, they rode to war, and battle could befall them at any moment. But they sat their horses straight, offering no complaint. Ysane watched them with pride tinged with concern.

  How bear they the torment of the heat in their mail? They must feel as meat baking for sup. Ah, but ’tis so hot!

  When the last man trailed by, Fallard raised his hand in farewell to Harold, who saluted from his place on the wall. The burh trumpets sounded in acknowledgment of the lord’s departure, the notes brassy on the dead air. Desultory calls of ‘safe journey’ floated down.

  They trotted to the head of the column where rode Roul and Fauques with Trifine and Roana.

  Feeling somewhat unnerved, Ysane looked to Fallard. “See you, husband. Even the banners hang lifeless on their poles.”

  He grunted.

  “Aye, and even the surface of the water looks dusty, think you not?”

  Another grunt.

  On the road, dust roiled from beneath plodding hooves and floated lazily on the still air, the smell of it thick. It mingled with the still, humid heat to create a sense of being smothered by an invisible blanket. Coughs and sneezes sounded among the men. Perspiration trickled down Ysane’s body, dampening her cyrtel.

  “How long think you this heat will last?”

  “Mmmph.”

  “Will we find water enough along the way?”

  No answer at all.

  She sighed and gave up the effort, letting Freya fall back a little. Warmth beat upon them and as the sun arced across the sk
y, the heat rose. The air shimmered like watery waves over the road. Freyja kept her nose close to Tonnerre’s hindquarters.

  Fallard turned and gestured to her to come back beside him. “Stay close, my rose. I trust you will inform me do you grow too weary to ride. This heat steals the body’s very strength. I would have not my son birthed ere he has chance to grow.”

  Now he deigns to speak with me!

  “Your son?” She laughed, though the dryness of her throat made it sound more like the crackling of sere oak leaves. She reached for the water leather hanging from the pommel and took a sip. “Oh, ho! By what foresight, husband, say you our child will be a son, and not a daughter?”

  “’Tis only that my family has a history of producing sons first,” he countered, an impish light twinkling in his midnight eyes.

  “I see. I take it that is similar to your history of more than one child birthed at the same time?”

  “Oh aye, though oft times several generations pass between. Then again, ’tis not unheard of for one generation to follow another with our women bearing twins.”

  “So I am to expect this child may be one of two, or mayhap even three?”

  “Happens you should.”

  “And what would be your thought, my lord, should the first child born of twins be a girl, followed by a boy?”

  “’Twill never happen, my love. I have told you, the firstborn are always males.”

  “Certain enough are you, that you would wager on that?”

  He threw her a sudden, wicked grin. “Now that is an intriguing thought. I would indeed wager with you, wife, but I must warn you. Think not my reward will be easy or quick to pay.”

  “Think you I would demand any less?”

  “Very well. What propose you to offer when I win?”

  “If you win. That is by no means a surety, despite your assertions. But I must have time to think on this, for my desire from you will also be not trivial, and must be that which is worthy of so notable a victory.”