Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  “I need no time to think upon my desire. Lean close and I will tell it.”

  She urged Freyja closer to Tonnerre. Fallard lifted her from her saddle to set her down in his lap. The unexpected action startled Freyja and she shied away. Trifine, riding behind with Roana, chuckled, moved forward and caught up the reins.

  Fallard looped his own reins around the pommel. Guiding Tonnerre with his knees, he wrapped both arms around her.

  She protested, pushing against him in a futile effort to gain her release. “Fallard, ’tis too hot to ride together, and ’tis not proper in front of your men.”

  “’Tis but for a moment, my rose, and then I will return you to Freyja. But hear me out, for I wish to tell you what my reward will be. Methinks you will wish not for others to hear.”

  He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered.

  Ysane’s eyelids flew wide and her mouth dropped open. Heat blazed across her face. The longer he spoke, the hotter she felt.

  Then suddenly, she giggled. “‘Why, ’tis not even possible, what you say.”

  “Oh, but ’tis, and I will have it from you when I win our bet. Agree you to this?”

  She glanced at him through narrowed eyes, then nodded. “I agree. You will have the details of my reward when we stop this eve.”

  Fallard glanced at Trifine, who returned his gaze without expression and obligingly held Freyja’s reins as Ysane was lifted back into her saddle.

  Some of her enjoyment in her husband’s attentions abated as Ysane glanced at the fields they passed. Despite a new watering project Fallard had recently commenced, too many of the summer crops shriveled ere their time. Though not yet lost, they would be, and soon, without water and an easing of the terrible heat. She listed in her mind the burh’s stocks of food. Even with the extra stores they had purchased, they would have to ration stocks through the winter if they had to supply the lesser burhs whose wealth could not match that of Wulfsinraed. She prayed, as she had done oft in the past seven-days, for rain.

  They arrived where the dusty road narrowed to little more than a track as it entered the forest, forcing the company to string out. She sighed with relief when the temperature dropped noticeably beneath the thick canopy. Fallard urged Tonnerre into a league-eating cantor. The journey to London was begun.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Two pairs of eyes that had earlier observed the long-expected arrival of William’s messenger now watched as the dark knight led his troops into the shadowy tunnel beneath the interlacing confusion of branches. Both men took note—with accompanying jaded comments—of the five women in the group, one of whom was the female their leader so-named the ‘Foolish One’. They agreed he would find that news of merit. They waited until the company passed from sight ere moving north along a narrow track that led deep into the forest. Ere the night was over, their leader had learned of the day’s events at Wulfsinraed.

  ’Twas all Ruald could do not to rub his hands together. All proceeded as he wished. The day the king’s messenger was spotted on the road to Wulfsinraed, the recall was sent to the groups of his raiders that had harassed Norman troops and holdings around London. By the time the dark knight arrived in the capital, there would be no rebels left to find. D’Auvrecher would chase ghosts, while Ruald took Wulfsinraed.

  Yet, part of the news brought to him by his spies concerned him, for he knew not what it might portend. The Foolish One had been among the riders and though she was fettered not, she appeared under guard, and ’twas the thought of his spies she favored not her inclusion in the company.

  Ah, but her last message repeated she was watched, which surprised him not. She was an incompetent accomplice at best. The dark knight was no fool. Mayhap, he had simply decided ’twas safer to have her under his eye.

  Ruald had received no hint of aught to lead him to believe his plans were compromised, and ’twas no hardship to him the woman was among those leaving. She had kept to her role and played her part, however ineptly. Should he need her again, he knew where to find her.

  Nay. He would waste not time on worry. His brother was due to arrive in the camp by eventide of the following day. Then they would make their move. ’Twas a simple strategy, and ’twould be successful because of it. They would launch the assault under cover of night, for even the moon played into his hand. Two nights hence, the light of the night would be in its dark phase. Such exquisite timing meant the fates worked in his favor. This time, naught would go wrong.

  ***

  The pace Fallard set was easy, so as not to push either men or horses too hard in the heat. They had not journeyed far when a red deer stag sauntered out of the trees onto the road ahead of them. The animal was majestic, huge, and sported a spectacular rack. It showed no fear. It snorted, and tossed its head as if in challenge, and trotted into the forest on the other side of the road.

  “Magnificent,” Fallard breathed. Ysane exclaimed in wonder.

  They met few travelers, only a unit of the king’s soldiers on patrol and a young couple, a freeman and his wife and children. Fallard sent them on their way after a brief conversation to put them at ease, for their fear of such a large group of soldiers was clear in their weary eyes.

  “The man is a farmer,” he said to Ysane. “His crops died in the field. He moves his family to a burh nigh the coast, where water, ’tis said, is more plentiful. He has a brother there, and they hope to join him. The load of their belongings is pitifully small. I gave them coin. Enough to hold them, if they are careful, until they are settled.”

  He offered the coin for no reason save the couple needed it, and he could easily spare it. But when he glanced at his wife, the look she gave him was nigh reverence. He sat straighter, glad he had obeyed the instinct to help.

  “’Tis so sad,” Ysane said, “like the news from Funta.”

  “Aye, but our people will be fine. We will care for them.” A fire started by summer lightning from rainless clouds had devastated Funta burh, its village and many of its surrounding fields and farms. Though no lives were lost, there remained naught left of the wooden manor house or the cottages. The burhfolc were temporarily absorbed into Wulfsinraed’s other fiefs, while Lord Belleme and his family had returned to London. “I will seek out Belleme. His service has been exemplary. ’Tis likely William will honor him and order Funta rebuilt, out of stone, this time. We will plunder the stores of all the fiefs to supply those who have lost all.”

  Roana rode to Ysane’s side. “How fare you, my dear? I worry for your delicate condition in this heat.”

  “I am well, but what of you, Roana? I fear ’tis too much for you. You are quite flushed.”

  Fallard peered around her to look more closely at Ysane’s lovely cousin. Roana’s face was ruddier than the small carrots Alewyn loved to serve boiled and mashed with butter and spices. “You are drinking enough?”

  “Aye,” Roana said with a laugh. “’Tis but the way my skin reacts to heat. I have surely drunk enough to float the swans who stop on the river to rest during their journey to the Fenlands.”

  Ysane’s laughter was to Fallard like a sprinkle of cool water. He listened with part of his mind to the two as they chatted of inconsequential things. The rest of his attention was given to their surroundings. As they journeyed, the forest light, already twilight dim with the closeness of the trees, grew darker. Beneath the heavy canopy, the stuffiness increased so the air was breathlessly close, yet it should have been cooler beneath the tree cover.

  Ysane looked up and strained to catch a glimpse of the sky. “’Tis growing hotter, methinks. I begin to fear I will either melt or burst into flame. I worry too, for the men. Though they have removed their helms, they remain in their mail. Already we have stopped thrice to water the horses and refill the water leathers.”

  “Trifine said his shirt is soaked beneath his hauberk,” Roana said. “Even the hides of the horses are dark with sweat.”

  Both women freely bathed their faces with small, wetted towels.

/>   The corners of Fallard’s eyes crinkled. When she thought he looked not, Ysane slid the cool cloth along her neck and down her front beneath the folds of her headrail.

  They had reached an area where the trees thinned out to offer a clear view of the heavens. Storm clouds roiled and churned overhead. There would be no gloaming this eve. He pointed to the sky. “Look above you, my ladies. You will see the answer to the puzzle.”

  “Ah! ’Tis as I thought,” Ysane exclaimed. “A storm comes. I knew I smelled rain, but thought it but a false hope.”

  “Praise be!” Roana breathed, her face filled with thanksgiving. “’Tis going to rain! Oh, how I wish for it everywhere, but especially at home.”

  “Aye,” Ysane answered, “but let us also pray the fields do not flood, lest what is left of the crops rot where they stand.”

  A soft murmur rustled through the trees. ’Twas as if the forest exhaled a long, slow sigh. Sweet puffs of cool air followed the sound, slipping past them like wraiths, briefly cooling sweat-soaked foreheads and heralding the advancing front.

  They passed two stone way-crosses leaning drunkenly beside the road, lichen covered, cracked and discolored with age.

  Ysane pointed to the one that, had it stood upright, would have directed straight ahead. Carved into the stone was a building with a high, pointed spire. “Fallard, will we make it to the abbey ere the storm begins?”

  He had determined to spend their first night at Bedhalh Abbey, a short gallop west of the Crossroads. Some eight leagues beyond, they would catch the main thoroughfare south to London.

  “Mayhap, we will,” he said. “The Crossroads are ahead.”

  Music and laughter reached their ears. The front of the column rounded a curve and before them, the trees opened out into a clearing at least half a league across. Their westward path cut through it to intersect, halfway across the great field, another road that ran north to south. This northern thoroughfare crossed over a wide bridge that spanned the river and continued southeast to Ceteham, Cantware Burh and other points along the coast. The grounds of Fallewydde faire straddled the roads and the river in concentric, ever-expanding circles.

  As their cavalcade exited the forest, sound and color exploded on their senses. It seemed the faire-goers paid little heed to either drought or heat. Fallard heard Ysane’s stomach growl at the luscious smell of cooking food. The strains of song from more than one traveling troupe were heard as they progressed. Tents and peddler’s wagons of vivid rainbow colors appeared almost garish to his eyes, accustomed as they were to the dusty shadows beneath the trees. Jugglers and acrobats, scops and dancers, men with trained dogs, monkeys and even stranger animals were to be seen on every side. As they traversed the field, merchants waved in welcome, inviting them to stop and sample the wares.

  Ysane and Roana exclaimed together at sight of bolts of lavishly hued, exquisitely woven cloth stacked on a table in front of an open tent. Roul and Fauques tried to look everywhere at once, their faces alight with excitement. Fauques spoke rapidly, his hands in emphatic movement.

  Roul, awe on his face, nodded and pointed to a very large, brown-furred mound curled beneath a tree. “My lord! ’Tis a bear.”

  The corners of Fallard’s eyes crinkled, but he stopped not.

  Domnall, who had ridden forward from the rear guard, uttered uncharacteristically rapturous words when his glance fell on a collection of ancient but beautifully preserved swords. “Look you, my lord! ’Tis certain I am that weapon there, the last one to the left at the top, is of great antiquity. ’Tis an Etruscan noble’s blade, do my eyes see correctly, yet see how well preserved it be.”

  Fallard nodded and kept riding.

  A Romany family, with what seemed a score of children tumbling, gamboling and laughing around their distinctively carved and painted caravan, invited them to stay. The patriarch, his black eyes glittering with avarice above the thickest, most amazingly curved mustache Fallard had ever seen, called to them. “Stay and rest a while, my lords. My eldest daughter will perform for you the dance of the peacock’s tail.” He gestured toward a beautiful, darkly voluptuous girl garbed in multiple sheer veils of shimmering blue and green. “You have my promise you and your warriors—aye, and even your ladies—will find it more amazing than aught you have seen.”

  Fallard pointed to the lowering skies and kept riding. A few unhappy murmurs from the men behind floated to his ears. The squire’s faces fell. He ignored them, and the displeasure that replaced the greed in the patriarch’s narrowed gaze. The column continued to wind its way through the throngs of people, passing a large inn and an even larger alehouse, the only permanent structures at the Crossroads apart from the bridge.

  Suddenly, Roana caught Ysane’s arm and pointed to their right. “Ysane, look you! ’Tis the bookseller. He is come!”

  Beyond the alehouse, wedged between a fat tent of yellow and green stripes filled with all manner of cookware, and a peddler’s wagon loaded with household notions of every description, was the small, nondescript booth of the bookseller.

  “Heard you, Fallard? The bookseller, he is here!”

  His gaze followed the line of her finger, but he looked her in the eyes and shook his head.

  Her expression lost all animation, and she faced forward. The elderly book merchant saw her, called her name and waved in glad recognition.

  Fallard watched her take herself in hand, force a smile and return the man’s greeting, then she tightened her reins and dropped behind with Roana until he rode alone. He hated the disappointment in her face, but his plans did not include stopping at the faire this night.

  ***

  Somewhere, deep inside her soul, Ysane felt something shrivel that had begun to grow again after Renouf bludgeoned it into oblivion. She stared at Fallard’s back, uncompromisingly straight. Had he already forgotten his promise to her, made only that morn? Knew he not that by the time they returned from London, the faire would be over? Silently chiding herself for allowing it to matter, she lifted her chin and reminded herself she was the lady of Wulfsinraed, and no longer a child. Life was filled with disappointments and small sorrows. One learned to accept them and go on. Besides, she had chosen to trust her husband. If he refused to stop, he had good reason. But she could help not the hurt wrought by his betrayal of his promise.

  A light touch on her hand brought her head around. Roana smiled at her, compassion in her look.

  “It matters not,” she mouthed. But as she glanced back at the others, she saw even Domnall had a glum cast to his features. She was not alone in her disappointment.

  Thunder rumbled overhead as the hot, hungry, and now rather drooping and disconsolate company followed the western road into the trees on the other side of the faire field. Slowly, the atmosphere grew more charged and a strong wind began to blow. The treetops swayed back and forth, but even beneath the trees, the breeze was forceful enough to buffet them with small twigs, leaves and grit kicked up from the road. To their left, the low, sluggishly running surface of the river bounced in tiny wavelets and splashes.

  She sighed and lifted her face. “How refreshing is the cool.”

  “Aye, but I fear we will soon be soaked,” Roana said with a laugh. “The abbey is nigh but mayhap, not close enough.”

  The lurid, brilliant flare of one lightning flash after another was followed by a cacophony of thunder that rumbled and roared as if all the hounds of hell were baying above them. Some of the horses, already nervous and skittish, pranced away from the blowing debris around their feet, and men’s hands tightened on the reins.

  Abruptly, Fallard slowed Tonnerre and moved close to Freyja. “Stay close, Ysane. Freyja is not so well trained as Tonnerre. I would have you nigh should the animal take fright.”

  Her heart lightened at the concern in his voice. She smiled. Behind her she heard Trifine murmuring to Roana and knew the silver knight also looked out for his lady.

  The fresh scent of the coming rain moved on the cooling air, dissipating the
pungent odor of dust and sweat-soaked men and horses. The oppressive atmosphere lightened. The storm front was passing, and with it came the first tiny pellets of scattered rain. It seemed as if the now crisp breeze was spitting moisture in their faces. It began to grow dark.

  “Keep up!” Fallard threw the words at her and once again set Tonnerre to a ground-eating canter. “I wish to reach our destination ere the heaviest showers begin.”

  ***

  Minutes passed as they sped along. As the first fat raindrops of the storm dropped among them, creating tiny craters in the dust of the road, they came upon another clearing to their right. Set well back from the road, the network of buildings and gardens that heralded the Benedictine community of Bedhalh Abbey lay sprawled behind a wall of brick. The pointed spire of the chapel rose so high it seemed to pierce the dark, lowering clouds. A duty postulant swung open the double gates. The horses surged forward, sensing the end of the day’s journey, and the column swept through the into the abbey yard.

  Fallard reined in at the doors to the refectory as a well-fed monk in the black robe of his order stepped out to greet him.

  “Well met, my lord, well met,” he cried. “Well come you are here, and in time for sup. Come inside, ere the rain drenches you. The stables are there.” He pointed to his left toward a sizable building. “’Tis dry and cool and the hay is fresh.”

  “My thanks,” Fallard said.

  The monk hurried back inside.

  “Domnall! See to the horses. Roul, you and Fauques go with him.”

  He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and helped Ysane dismount. She grimaced as stiff muscles protested.

  He passed into the refectory and Ysane followed, Lynnet right behind her. Aelthid came next, then Leda, flanked by her guards. Trifine brought up the rear. The huge dining room was clean and cool, with large windows regularly spaced in the thick walls. On sunny days, ’twould be a bright, cheerful space, but with the rain now cascading as if the heavens meant to reverse the drought in but hours, ’twas merely gloomy.