Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  Roana admired the implement. “’Tis a thing of both use and beauty. What man would not?”

  “That particular horn belonged to a very rich and famous jarl, none other than Thorfinn Turf-Einarsson, Eorl of Orkney, also known as Thorfinn Skull-Splitter,” the vender interjected smoothly. “Though ’tis hardly fit for a lady’s tender ears, methinks you will wish to know—so you may tell your esteemed husband—that legend passed down from that time says the eorl loved to drink the blood of his enemies from the horn.” He leaned forward and motioned with his hand to the two women to come closer, and then whispered in ominous tones. “’Tis told he cut out their hearts while they still lived and poured the blood directly into the horn even as the severed organs pumped their last.”

  “Ugh.” Ysane gave a delicate shudder, while Roana pressed her hand over her bosom.

  “Aye, and all would expect beautiful and high-born ladies of delicate humor such as yourselves to be distressed by such a wicked and barbaric custom.” His eyes glittered and he spoke directly to Ysane. “But I must ask, my lady, if your husband be a mighty warrior, would he not find it a tale worthy of recounting to his friends?”

  Roana’s trilling laughter rang out. “Methinks our friend is wise in the ways of his trade, Ysane. He knows well how to reach our purses through the tempers of our husbands.”

  Unoffended, the vender bowed to Roana, acknowledging her insight.

  “Mayhap, but he is right,” Ysane said. “Fallard would enjoy imparting that information to his friends. I shall buy it for him.” She turned to the merchant. “Have you also a holder?”

  “’Tis good you asked, my lady, for I have here a holder meet for such a fine cup.”

  He handed Ysane a heavy, blackened silver holder in the shape of the scaled lower half of a dragon, its clawed feet and speared tail forming the triangle of the base. He set the cup into the holder to show her how well it fit.

  “Oh, aye, that will do! ’Tis as if ‘twere made for the cup. I will take it. Roana, see you here aught that might catch Trifine’s eye?”

  “Mayhap, that.” Her cousin pointed to a cloak pin half hidden beneath a jeweled dagger.

  The vender handed the pin to her. “Forgive me, lady, if I seem impertinent, but ’twould appear you are wise not only in the ways of merchants, but possess a discerning eye, as well. ’Tis clear you note the piece you hold is not one of my finest. Mayhap, my lady would find her interest more captured by this piece, instead.”

  Reaching into a drawer behind him, he withdrew a small, cloth-wrapped item. He pulled aside the flaps to reveal a cloak pin beautifully crafted of black glass, silver and black and white cloisonné enamel.

  A tiny inhalation and a flicker of her eyelids was all that indicated Roana’s excitement, but Ysane saw the vender note it. He handed the piece to her. “Please, do me the honor of examining it with your expert eye. You will discover ’tis the finest of cloisonné work, crafted by a master of the art in the fabled city of Constantinople. ’Tis said the artist is a man of deep religious conviction, who never sells a piece he crafts unless ’tis first hallowed by a holy father who has received his training in blessed Rome itself. Good luck follows those who wear items of his crafting.”

  Ysane smiled as Roana examined it closely. Her cousin loved Byzantine cloisonné enamel. “Look you here, Ysane, at the craftsmanship. The good merchant lies not. ’Tis an exquisite piece. Think you not it will look well against Trifine’s cloak of sable velvet?”

  “That can be of no doubt, Roana. ’Tis an excellent gift for a knight of consequence.”

  Satisfied with their choices, Ysane and Roana settled their purchases with the merchant, bid him good day and wandered away among the other faire-goers.

  After a particularly humorous gossip about a most oddly dressed couple that passed them as they ambled along, Roana mused aloud. “Suppose you others gossip about us, as we do about them?”

  “If so, ’tis but fair, methinks,” Ysane said. “Why should we have all the fun?”

  Roana laughed gaily and hooked her arm through the crook of Ysane’s elbow. “Ysane, my dear, ’tis wonderful to see you laughing and carefree again. It has been too long, my kinswoman. My heart rejoices for you.”

  Ysane said naught, but smiled and placed her hand over Roana’s. “’Tis almost noontide. We have passed a great many food stalls and the wonderful smells bewitch me. Let us seek our husbands and have them buy us food, lest we starve.”

  “You are always hungry, these days,” Roana laughed. “Never have I known a woman with child to eat so much. You must take care or you will blow up to rival Luilda.”

  “Fallard said he would still want me were I to grow as big as the moon.”

  “Aye, and a good man he is to say so. But men are strange creatures, and ’tis truth that for all they believe they mean their words, they would still prefer us not to grow fat!”

  Ysane giggled. “Oh, methinks you are right, and I do take care, but no matter how much I eat, I still seem constantly famished.”

  “Well, at least you are not constantly ill. That is a blessing you may consider well as you happily stuff yourself. But mayhap, there is reason for your unnatural hunger. ’Tis my thought your babe is a boy, and will one day be the size of his father, and thus, even in the womb he requires more than the usual nourishment.”

  “Oh nay! Tell me not I will starve throughout my whole time of carrying him.”

  Roana laughed again at Ysane’s expression. “You need not offer such a woebegone look, my dear, for mayhap, I am in error and this hunger will soon pass, and you will then find the babe causes you some other difficulty.”

  “Luilda and the midwife have assured me of that. But faith, what a comfort you are, my cousin!” Ysane laughed and groaned at the same time. “With a friend such as you to offer succor in my tribulations, I have no need of a foe.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  They rounded a tent of scarlet and yellow, rather larger than most, to find their husbands arguing over the merits of a new style of padded forearm greave. They wandered together to a food seller and sat beneath a shaded canopy to enjoy a repast of hearty rosemary-seasoned mutton pies, spiced fruit and burnt cream custard. There was much merriment and good-natured jesting when Ysane devoured everything on her trencher and then stole more from Fallard.

  The meal finished, Ysane and Roana gifted their husbands with their purchases.

  “’Tis a good story,” Trifine declared upon hearing the tale of the ‘blood in the cup’, “but ’tis likely there is little truth to it.”

  “Mayhap not, but I will enjoy the telling, all the same,” Fallard said, and immediately ordered a new round of ale, but had his poured into the horn. He raised it in toast. “I declare this horn the finest of cups, surpassing even the silver tankards at home.”

  “Hear, hear!” Trifine downed several hefty swallows, then affixed his cloak pin to the collar of his tunic. For several minutes, he swaggered and bowed to all who passed and bade them admire the piece until Roana, red-faced and laughing, pulled him back to the table and enjoined him to cease.

  “Methinks the heat grows apace with the day,” Fallard commented after the laughter died down. “’Tis my thought ’twill storm again this eve. Look you at the sky.”

  While they feasted, it had darkened somewhat. The ground beside them was patterned alternately in light and shadow as clouds raced across the face of the sun. Roul and Fauques appeared. The boys’ tunics were dirty and their faces showed traces of honey and cream, but they were nigh delirious with happiness. Fallard sent them to carry the day’s purchases—with the exception of Ysane’s book, which Fallard kept safe in his tunic—to the guards who watched their horses.

  “Tonnerre and Freyja are with Claudien, the bookseller,” he said. “Go there, thank him for his aid and take the horses to join the others. After, you may make free until sup.”

  Not long after their meal, the foursome met up with Domnall. Pleasure sparked from his hazel ey
es as he showed the women the Etruscan sword.

  ’Twas a little later that he pulled Ysane aside while the others watched trained dogs being put through their paces. Taking her arm, he walked a little away with her.

  “Looks like more rain this eve, lady. Methinks the drought has been broken, mayhap, for good.”

  “Aye. Think you some of the crops can be saved?”

  “If there is not too much rain, too quickly. ’Twill be a close thing, though.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “’Tis fine to see you smiling with so much ease of late. ’Tis clear that great Norman yonder is good for you. Ysane, know you how glad I am for the wee babe you carry?”

  Ysane looked up into his face, letting her love for him show. “Betimes, Domnall, ’tis difficult to believe fortune has smiled upon me so kindly, and in so short a time.”

  “You do love him, then. Aye, I see it in you, and I see it in him too, in the way he looks at you, and the care he takes of you.”

  “You believe he loves me?”

  “Aye, lady, that he does, though he may be yet unwilling to admit to that fair emotion. But fear not. One day he will know it, and tell it, as well. He is a good man, and will be a fine father. Our people have given him their loyalty, true and fair, for even his judgments are sound, and he is generous with what he has been given, even to me.”

  “How so?”

  “See you this fine old sword I carry? ’Tis a treasure, and its price beyond my means. I thought to pass it by, and felt blessed at but holding it. But when I left, your husband returned and purchased it. He said ’twas better in the hand of a man who appreciated it as should be, rather than hanging on some rich man’s wall as a mere decoration, or a tribute to his vanity.”

  Ysane smiled. “That would be my husband. I wanted so to hate him, Domnall, when he came and took my home. My enemy, he was, and the enemy of my people. I feared he would bring worse than Renouf. But from the start, from the first moment he came to my sitting room, looked me up and down and said, ‘It pleases me to find you well’, then left me alone, I knew ’twould be not so. He captured my heart then, with his butchered hair and his dark eyes so filled with gentleness, though I knew it not until later.”

  They stood in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Domnall turned her back to the others. “I had best return you to him, ere he decides to come for you. I have taken note his attention rests upon us rather than with the dogs. He is a trifle grudging of any man who is with you, even me.” He chuckled at the thought. “But ’tis no bad thing for a man to hold tight to what is his, so long as he is not unjust in the doing.”

  Their time at the faire ended at dusk with most of the company meeting at the gypsy wagon to watch the daughter’s final dance of the day. Ysane sat off to one side with Fallard, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders, and Roana and Trifine to the other side. Their two maids, accompanied throughout the day by Aelthid’s young admirer and one of his friends, sat behind them, as did the two squires. Ysane found she blushed nigh continuously throughout the performance. But she was fascinated by the dancer’s sensual, fluid grace and sinuous movements so perfectly timed to the unfamiliar, but enticing music played on flute and pipes. She had not thought ’twas even possible for the body to make such moves.

  Relaxed and pleasantly weary, the company returned to the abbey amid low conversation and quiet laughter. Above them, leaden skies held the promise of more rain. Upon reaching their tiny cells, the women found their clothes from the previous day washed and folded on their pallets, ready to pack. ’Twas but another of her husband’s thoughtful gestures. Sorry she was at not sharing her bed with him this night. She wanted to hold him in her arms and show him her love, and be enwrapped in his loving strength.

  After sup, she lay in her lonely bed, finding sleep elusive as she considered the morrow when they would begin the journey to London to meet with the king. Her heart tapped a little harder at that thought, for while she did not exactly hate William, she deeply feared him. Always, he would remain the enemy, for he was the conqueror, the man responsible for the murder of her people and the rape of her land, and of the misery that she had endured since her father’s imprisonment and death.

  ’Twas oft times difficult to prevent the lingering bitterness that dwelled in her soul from swelling into deep resentment, to sour the rest of her life. Thus, she sought to focus on whatever good might come from the events of that terrible day when William came bringing fire, sword and suffering.

  Eventually, she fell asleep, the sound of rain soothing her heart, and holding tight to the love she bore Fallard. For her, ’twas the best thing that had come out of that unhappy time.

  ***

  It seemed to Ysane she had barely closed her eyes ere Fallard was shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, my rose! Come, Ysane, open your eyes, let me see you are aware of me.”

  “Fallard.” Her voice was throaty, her mind and body slow to respond. He gently shook her again. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The flame of the candle he carried was the only light in the cell.

  “’Tis still dark, husband. Why do you wake me ere the break of day?”

  He grinned. “Slept you not at all last night? You are never easy to wake, but this morn seems worse. Mayhap, ’tis the babe, for ’tis said carrying a child makes a woman more tired than is natural. But come. I wish ’twas possible for you to lie in bed till nooning, but you must wake and dress. We leave soon.”

  “Husband.” She rolled over and tried to sit up, but she needed his help to do it. “I feel like a dead tree fallen over in the forest.”

  His lips twitched and his shoulders shook in silent laughter. She frowned at him through strands of hair pulled free from her braid. He set the candlestick down and took her face in his hands to kiss her. “You may feel like a dead tree, little mother, but you look like a hedgehog awakened from its winter nap. I am leaving now. Lynnet will be here shortly. ’Twas difficult to awaken her, too, for she was nigh as sleepy as you.” He laughed, this time aloud. “Mayhap, ’tis this place! There is peace here.”

  He looked back as he reached the door. “Nay, love, you may not lie down again.”

  Her scowl deepened as his words stopped her from rolling back onto the pallet. Lynnet appeared at the door.

  He turned to the maid. “If the both of you are not in the refectory by the time I return from speaking with the abbot, I will have you carried there like sacks of grain.”

  Lynnet’s eyes widened.

  Ysane promptly stood up, knowing he would do it. “Lynnet, find my syrce!”

  He left them to dress.

  ***

  “Why set you the women with the rearguard, Fallard?”

  Still seeking to remove the night dust from her eyelids and the cobwebs from her thoughts, Ysane struggled to loosen her cape from where it snagged on the saddle.

  Though his fingers were patient as he released the fabric, Fallard’s tone was not. His earlier good humor had vanished. “’Tis where I wish you to be. Say no more! I have ordered silent passage.”

  She curbed the urge to snap in return.

  As the monk on night watch held the gate to let them pass, Fallard quietly thanked him for the night’s lodging, mentioning they must make all speed to London. But as soon as the man wished them God’s protection, locked the gate behind them and returned to the abbey, Fallard ordered all to maintain silence. Then the whole company, in bewildering defiance of the haste with which they left, and despite Fallard’s careful words to the monk, walked their horses, not continuing west, where they would eventually connect with the southern road to London, but back east, toward home.

  Bewildered, Ysane leaned to whisper her confusion. “But Fallard, have you not orders from the king to proceed with haste to London? We have already wasted a day at the faire, which I mind not, of course, but why then do we return to Wulfsinraed? Will not William be angry at our delay?”

  “William will soon know the reason, and he will approve,�
�� he whispered back.

  “So, William may know why we begin a hasty journey for London, ride like madmen through scorching heat, then spend a day lingering at the faire, only to return home this day, but I may not?”

  “There is no time to explain. For now, we must have silence!”

  She made a little face he could not see and raised her nose in the air.

  Well, then! He speaks to me as if I am one of his soldiers!

  ’Twas too dark to see his expression but ’twas clear from his tone he was annoyed. He urged Tonnerre to increase his pace, and left her. She supposed he moved to the front of the column. Another soldier eased forward to take his place beside her.

  She spoke quietly to Roana, whose horse plodded on her other side. “Naught about this morn makes sense, my cousin. ’Tis still well ere dawn. We are rushed through our departure, haste sends us into the wet night, then we must slow to the pace of a tortoise. I would know what he is about.”

  “Methinks our husbands have given us less than a full accounting of all they know.”

  “Aye, ’tis a great failing of all men, that. Know they not our fears would be less did we know what to expect?”

  “They believe they protect us with ignorance.”

  “They are wrong!”

  Her emphatic whisper and Roana’s low chuckle elicited more than one stern ‘Shush!’ from the men who rode with them.

  The rain had ceased, but the air was chill and gray with fog. Water dripped from every surface.

  They maintained the slow, hushed pace. When they came nigh to the Crossroads, Fallard led them off the road and deep into the trees, where ’twas so dark ’twas necessary to light small torches. The horse’s hooves gave off low sucking sounds as they sank into the soaked muck of mud, fallen leaves and other detritus. The constant drip from the darkness above became a vexation.